Old Secrets
by inksmudged
Summary: The Christmas after she rejects him, Gemma is visited by Simon Middleton. But there is much more to Mr. Middleton than she ever expected. Gemma must balance the pressures of society with the demands of the realms. GemmaxKartik or SimonxGemma?
1. Do Be Careful

**This is my first fanfic, so pretty please R&R! It's set around the Christmas following the end of Rebel Angels.**

The maid appears at my bedroom door, diminutive and silent, her hands folded over her skirts. I don't even notice her until she clears her throat nervously. I jump and slap my hand guiltily over the letter I was composing.

"Miss Doyle, Mr. Simon Middleton for you, in the parlor."

I stay seated, glancing at Kartik's most recent, hastily scrawled, letter. The wet ink from my half-finished reply stains my fingers and palm.

"Miss?"

"You may tell Mr. Middleton that I will be down in a moment. I must…" I glance at my ink stained hand. "Freshen up."

I enter the parlor timidly, silent as a church mouse. Simon has his back to me as he inspects the various portraits of long-dead Doyle family members. He has grown taller since last Christmas, and his shoulders are broader. Were it not for his hair, I would be certain a stranger stood in our parlor. I watch him mutely, my feet bolted to the floor.

Finally, Simon turns, looking about idly. When his eyes fall on me, he freezes, equally stunned as I. I stare back at him, mouth half ajar as I cast about for something to say.

Finally, Simon finds his voice. "Miss Doyle. You look very well."

"Thank you," I reply, after a pause. The supreme awkwardness of the situation has made me into a halfwit. I can scarcely keep from blushing, let alone carry on a civil conversation. "How is your family?" I inquire politely, the words vacant and rehearsed.

"Quite well," he answers dutifully. There is silence again, and we regard each other with guarded expressions. Wondering at the reason for his visit, I search his face for signs of anger, pain, or even sorrow. But there is nothing, only a genteel politeness. I look to the floor, no longer able to resist the hot blush that flushes into my cheeks. He can only be here to harangue me over the cowardly way I rejected him – a discarded brooch left on the mantelpiece of his home, to be discovered by the servants. I find myself wishing I would've had the courage to at least tell him I'm not the right girl for him – to explain that my dark past will forever shadow my future. That I'm not the schoolgirl debutante he expects.

"Did you receive my package?" Simon asks suddenly, with passion in his voice that surprises me. I look up to see his earnest eyes – still the same laughing jewels they were when we first met, but now all childhood softness has vanished from his face. He has a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones, jutting over shadowed hollows in his cheeks. He is a man.

"I… I did."

Simon nods, looking disappointed. "You promised you would write me," he says softly, his reminder carrying the hurt of an abandoned child. "I thought that maybe when you saw that I…" He glances at the floor, his lips pressed thin. "Well, I thought you might at least maintain a correspondence."

What do I say? "I apologize," I answer weakly. "I thought that you would not wish to speak with me after I…" My blush deepens as I search for the most diplomatic way to put it.

"After you rejected my gift?" Simon inquires sharply. "After you rejected _me_?" He smiles, faintly, but genuinely. "I am not so easily put off, Miss Doyle."

"I didn't know."

"Give me another chance. The Simon Middleton you knew was too eager to please, desperate for your approval. Let me show you who I am without an agenda."

"An agenda?"

Simon seems bemused by my confusion. "Why, your affection of course. What else?"

I blush for an entirely different reason, warmed by the compliment, despite my embarrassment. "I would never presume such a thing, Mr. Middleton."

"So, may I redeem myself?"

"Certainly," I answer, without considering the consequences. I had mostly envisioned a stroll through Hyde Park chaperoned by Grandmama and perhaps Tom. Or maybe another invitation to dine with his family. Least of all had I expected his actual proposal.

"Can you get away from your family this evening? Alone?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Alone?"

Simon grinned wolfishly. "I assure you, your virtue is in no danger from me. I am a gentleman, after all."

I blushed at the insinuation. "I don't know…"

"Gemma, please?"

"It's just… my grandmother is like a hawk, and Tom would sooner wed a pauper than allow me out alone."

"Where are Tom and your grandmother now?"

"Grandmama is calling on friends and Tom is seeing patients at the asylum."

"Let's go now." Simon takes my hand, trying to pull me forward. I tug back, resisting. "Just a ride round the park in my carriage – we'll draw the curtains."

"Mr. Middleton, I –"

Simon cut me off, his voice low, "I can't have servants overhearing us." I remembered my maid, Molly, who had a terrible habit of listening at doors.

"Alright then," I whispered. "But what of me? The servants will surely spread gossip when I go off alone with you."

"Pretend we are merely going to the stables so you might introduce me to your favorite horse."

As per Simon's suggestion, we staged a loud conversation in which Simon professed his devout love of all things equestrian, and I insisted on taking him to the stables to see my favorite (nonexistent) mare.

Once in his carriage, the coachman set the horses in motion.

"Mr. Middleton –"

"Gemma, just call me Simon."

"_Simon_, what is the meaning of all this?" I keep my voice low, in case he didn't want the driver to hear.

"I told you – I wanted to redeem myself. You think me a foolish, young dandy with naught more in my head than the latest gossip and fox hunting."

"No," I deny swiftly. That's not entirely true – I was quite captivated with him at one point, though I can't entirely recall why.

Simon laughed bitterly. "I know what you think, Gemma. It's written all over your face. Why else would you have rejected a well-connected, wealthy man?"

I sigh and look at my hands. My breath escapes in puffs of white. I hadn't thought to take a cloak, or even a shawl, and the winter air is bitingly cold. Simon takes pity and removes his own jacket, forcing me to accept it by wrapping it about my shoulders.

"Just tell me why," he asks after a pause.

"I don't…"

"Gemma," he says sharply, making me look up. "Just tell me."

I look down again. "I was afraid that eventually you would grow tired of me. That I would only become one of the animal mounts in your massive house – just another monument to your triumph, eventually vacant and meaningless."

Simon sighed. "I suppose that may have happened. That may happen to even the most passionate of lovers. There must be more. Tell me!"

Riled by his urgency, I snap, "Because you're so sodding perfect!" Simon looks affronted. "You _are _wealthy and well-connected, but what am I? Minor gentry with more secrets than you can imagine. Your perfect world would not accommodate me and all my imperfections."

"Do you think me a blind fool? Do you think the package I sent was just a lucky guess?" Simon scowls, leaning forward aggressively. "I see your secrets spinning a web around your neck, choking the life from you, stealing your breath and your will!"

"You speak as if I keep corpses in the carriage house," I say lightly, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

Simon leans closer to me, his expression cold. "Do not patronize me. I do not expect you to confess all to me, but know this – you are not the only one with secrets."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I sent you that box, so you might know that while I cannot understand, I can at least help. We all have things to hide, some worse than others."

I laugh scornfully, forgetting my manners. "What can you possibly have to hide, Mr. Middleton?"

Simon looks distant, sitting back, away from me. "More than you know," he sighs.

Compassion surges through me and I think of all the lies and secrets that have twisted my life since Mother's death. Even the pretentious gentry have their share of closeted monsters, though I often forget it. I think immediately of Felicity and her beloved father, the admiral, and how he ruined her innocence so entirely that even Fee can't realize it.

"What is your secret?" I breathe softly, hoping he will hear the apology in my tone.

Simon looks away sharply. "That would be telling, now wouldn't it? I think I prefer to be mysterious just now – just like the enigmatic Miss Gemma Doyle."

My forehead wrinkles with worry. Is he angry with me?

"You wouldn't believe my secret, anyway," I say irritably.

"Try me," Simon challenges.

"No."

"Then we are at an impasse."

"I suppose so."

"Then I will take you home, Miss Doyle." His return to the formal address makes me cringe. He _is _angry with me.

"Please do," I answer staunchly, resisting the urge to throttle him.

When we return to the house, Simon helps me down from the carriage. "May I call on you again, Miss Doyle?" he asks suddenly.

Taken by surprise, I answer, "Certainly."

"Then I shall see you again, soon. You may find that I know more about your secrets than you think."

"You may find that you are mistaken," I reply evenly, my temper beginning to flare again.

"Perhaps." Simon sits back in his carriage and I turn my back on him to ascend the stairs to the front door. "Oh, by the by," Simon calls from his carriage, his voice suddenly slick with condescension, "the Rakshana are always watching, Miss Doyle. Do be careful."

And with that, the driver snaps the reins and Simon's carriage glides briskly away, leaving me standing like an idiot at the front door.

**Le Fin.**

**I hoped you all liked it! I will beg a second time for reveiws. big, sad puppy eyes You know you want to...**


	2. Are you mad?

_Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, I'm so glad you guys like my story! Here is the second installment, which, honestly, was quite difficult. I wrote (swear to god) four different versions of this. It's kind of a segway into what's coming up, so it took me a bit to get it right. I'm still not sure if I'm entirely satisfied with it. Anyways, please read and review - I love to know what you think!_

As soon as Simon's carriage disappears around the corner, I race to find Kartik. I glance fearfully up and down the narrow alley between the house and stable – expecting to find a cloaked assailant awaiting me – and dash across quickly. The light is fading, and I know Tom and Grandmama will be returning soon.

I find Kartik by the carriage, brushing down one of the horses. He seems alarmed when he sees me. "Miss Doyle," he says quickly, stepping toward me urgently.

"Mr. Kartik," I greet him politely for the benefit of the other stable hands. "Mr. Doyle would like to see you to discuss your wages," I lie easily. Kartik nods, knowing full well that I'm lying, and follows me out of the stable. I lead him to a small alcove on the side of the house, where we can be seen from neither the house nor the stable.

Before I can speak, Kartik asks, "Did you get my note? I sent it with Emily." I cannot help but purse my lips at the mention of her name. She is a beautiful girl, and I can only resent her for it. I often wonder what it would take for Kartik to see me in the same light as he sees her.

"No, I received no note – though I did just receive a visit from Simon Middleton."

Kartik's eyes widen. "Are you quite alright?"

He already knows. That saves me a good few minutes of explanation. "Yes, he asked me to speak privately with him – to ride in his carriage… alone."

Kartik looks fit to be tied. "_Alone_? Without an escort?!"

"I do believe that would be the meaning of 'alone,'" I reply calmly, thoroughly enjoying his distress.

"You didn't go with him?" Kartik demands incredulously.

"Well, actually…"

"Gemma Doyle!" he cries angrily, in perfect imitation of Tom when he's confounded by me. "Are you out of your mind? Shall I call your brother to take you to his madhouse?! What were you –"

"Nothing happened!" I insist, my temper flaring and flattery long forgotten.

"Well some very well could have happened, you know!"

"But _nothing _did," I snap irritably.

"Which is a bloody wonder, considering Simon Middleton is now a member of the Rakshana!" Kartik growled, his hands clenched into fists. "You absolute fool," he steamed. "He could have killed you – or worse!"

"They wouldn't kill me – I'm the only one who can get into the realms."

"You don't know that. You remember Nell Hawkins. She was wanted as well, and she drove herself mad to keep safe." The reminder is like a knife in my side. I lean dizzily against the wall, realization of what could've happened finally hitting me. Kartik ignores my shaking hands and pale face, carrying on about my foolishness.

"I know!" I hiss suddenly, interrupting his tirade. "I didn't find you so I could be harangued. Tell me what I should do."

Kartik glares at me, still fuming. "First," he answers tersely, "You should sever all acquaintance with Mr. Middleton."

"Impossible. Grandmother would be beside herself if she knew that he had come calling again, and she is certain to find out from one of the servants."

"Offend his family, fake pneumonia, go into hiding – I don't care. They are using Simon as their liaison, just as…" He trails off.

"Just as they used you," I finish for him.

"If I had not failed them, I would've been bound for a much greater destiny. Simon will be desperate to prove himself, so that he might rise in the ranks. I can't imagine the viscount's son takes well to being a mere lackey."

"Did it suit you?" I ask, suddenly curious over why Kartik saw fit to leave everything he had ever known. Was it for me? Or did he suddenly develop a conscience, perhaps?

"Did what suit me?"

"Being the lackey."

"Of course not. I just told you, had I succeeded with you, I would've become much more." He does not understand where my line of questioning is going. Instead, he looks irritated that I have changed the subject from the matter at hand. Still, I persist.

"Then why did you give it all up? Years of service to this brotherhood, gone in a moment… why?"

His brow furrows as he regards me silently. "I just did," he answers noncommittally, running a hand through his dark curls.

I sigh, and push away from the wall. "Alright then," I say rigidly. "I'll just go, then." I stride past him in a huff.

"Gemma, wait." Kartik catches me by the arm, dragging me back easily.

"Excuse me, that hurts," I snap, wrenching my arm out of his grasp.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks, bewildered. "I'm on your side – why are you angry with _me_?"

"I'm not angry," I deny, crossing my arms primly. Kartik rolls his eyes.

"What do you want me to say? That I left the Rakshana because I had an epiphany from God telling me that I must join the forces of good?" His sarcasm only exacerbates my irritation.

_No, you incompetent clod, I want you to say it was for _me_. Are you completely oblivious? _"No," I snort. "I hardly expect you to turn Christian on me after all I've seen."

"You've become so jaded," Kartik sighs wistfully. "You used to be… naïve."

"I was not!" I scowl.

"Don't be offended. I liked it." He looks away, a slight flush to his cheeks. "I felt like you needed me, even if we weren't on the friendliest terms."

I'm flushing as well. Kartik is hardly one to bare his soul. Hearing him express such a basic vulnerability as wanting to be needed is a revelation to me. "Well," I say cautiously, "I suppose I did need you." The blush in my cheeks heightens. "I didn't know anything about the realms," I admit. "But that doesn't make me naïve!" I add quickly.

"No, I suppose not." Kartik leans close to me, his eyes hooded as he looks at me.

I look up to him, surprised. We are only inches apart, and I am intensely aware of the heat of his body. His eyes search mine, and I can only think that if he'd bend down, just a bit, we could…

The sound of Tom's voice startles us both. He has pulled up to the front of the house in a hansom cab. "There you are," he says, paying the driver.

Kartik pushes me away from him. "Get back in the house," he says quickly. We both bolt in opposite directions.

I rush around the back of the house, entering through the kitchen. Emily is there, talking to the cook. They both silence as I pass through.

I pause, smiling awkwardly. "Emily, Mr. Kartik has told me that you are learning to read from him."

Emily blanches, her lovely face frozen in an emotionless stare. "Yes, but always after all my work's been done," she says in a rush. "I don't neglect my duties."

"Of course," I say quickly, trying to reassure her. How does father get on so easily with the servants? They're like frightened mice around me. "I just thought you might like to read something other than _The Odyssey_. I've several of Miss Austen's books and many others. You might like them more."

Emily smiles incredulously. "Oh, that would be a treat," she agrees gratefully.

"Alright then," I say, more confidently. "I will fetch one that I'm sure you'll enjoy." There now, it's not hard at all to get on with the servants.

Emily and the cook bob quick curtsies as I leave the kitchen. I round the corner for the stairs, only to crash into Tom as he's coming down.

"Mind yourself, Gemma," he sighs, exasperated. I brush past him, dashing up the stairs as quickly as I can in a corset.

"Oh, Gemma. I met Simon Middleton at the club today – he's invited us for dinner with his family. Do tell Grandmama if you see her."

_Ooooh... of course I had to have Kartik in this. And what's the use of having Kartik if Gemma can't be all frustrated in love and whatnot? For the sake of simplicity, I'm pretending that Gemma's father rehired him (much to Tom's displeasure). Let me know what you think!_


	3. I Told You

_Thank you soooo much to all of you who review and most especially to those of you who favorited/alerted my story. I'm overjoyed by how well my fic is going over, and oddly enough, a bit humbled. I hope you enjoy this chapter - it's a bit longer than the others, and my favorite so far. I changed the rating from K+ to T because this is about to get darker and just a little less less suitable for younger viewers. Please continue to review - thanks to a recent visit to my inbox, I realized that you can reply to comments - so expect that from here on out. Okay... um, that's it. Enjoy the story!_

- - -

The next morning, I awake to a fresh note pinned to my headboard. _How did he manage this one_? I grumble in my head as I unfold it.

_Miss Doyle,  
__Simon is most certainly a member  
__of the Rakshana. Do not, under  
__any circumstances, go near him  
__-Kartik_

Wonderful. How am I to convince Grandmama that we cannot dine with the Middletons next week? Quick as lightning, it occurs to me – _feign ill, you dolt._ I fold the note confidently and tuck it away with the others. I wonder what Kartik would think if he knew that I hoard his notes, rather than tearing them to pieces as he would, no doubt, suggest.

There is a tap at the door, and I slam the drawer shut violently, catching my finger. With a hissed explicative, I cradle my poor finger in my other hand, blinking back the tears of pain.

"Come in," I gasp.

Emily is at the door. "Breakfast, miss."

"Thank you," I mutter, rubbing my crushed finger. "You may tell Mrs. Doyle that I will be down shortly." Emily bobs a quick curtsy and turns to go. "Oh, Emily – wait!" Using my uninjured hand, I snatch _Pride and Prejudice _from my bookshelf. "Here, this is for you. Mr. Kartik may not enjoy it, but I daresay Miss Austen is a sight more interesting than Homer."

Emily smiles sweetly, taking the book reverentially. "Thank you, miss!"

"Yes, of course."

Emily curtsies again, then makes her way back to wherever she goes. I join Father, Tom, and Grandmama for breakfast.

"There's my girl," Father smiles as I enter the breakfast parlor. Tom ignores me as he peruses various documents, from the asylum no doubt.

"Gemma," Grandmama says, trying to mask the delight in her voice. "The viscount and his wife have invited us to dine with them this coming Sunday." She waves the invitation, freshly delivered this morning by their footman. "Perhaps you might take Emily and find a new gown?"

I already know I will not be attending Sunday's little soiree, and I hardly think it fair to use our money on a gown that will never be seen. "Well, I thought that I might…" I trail off demurely. "Lady Denby did compliment my blue taffeta gown when we last saw her – I thought I might wear that one again."

Grandmama shakes her head sternly. "That will not do. We cannot have the Middletons think we cannot afford to clothe you properly." Grandmama chuckles to herself, "To wear the same gown, two dinners in a row? I think not, Gemma dear."

"Well, I do so love the rosewater silk – with all the buttons. It is quite my favorite gown. The Middletons have not seen that one, I would think," I try again.

Grandmama ponders the idea, but in the end, decides against it. "No, dear. You do need several new gowns, in any case. There will no doubt be many Christmas balls to attend and I won't have you wearing last season's gowns."

"They can easily be altered to fit the new fashions," I argue.

"Gemma, do not be so difficult! After luncheon I will accompany you to the dressmaker." Now I wish I hadn't argued with her at all. With Grandmama coming along, it will be most difficult.

"Do not trouble yourself, Grandmama" I say hastily. "I am quite able to manage."

"I will not have you traipsing about London with only a maid for a chaperone."

Thinking quickly, I say, "I thought I might go with Miss Worthington." Grandmama raises her eyebrows – _ah , she is inspecting the bait._ "Admiral Worthington's daughter," I add modestly. Grandmama smiles. _And she takes it! Success!_

"Miss Worthington is a most genteel girl, I am sure," Grandmama muses. "To be the daughter of such a noble man." Thoughts of Felicity's father make my stomach churn. I glance at my own father, who has been evaluating our exchange silently. When I meet his eyes, he gives me a small, hidden smile. I know what he means. _Touché, daughter._

"Yes, Miss Worthington is most congenial."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"And how has your holiday fared, thus far, dear Gemma?" We are playing propriety for the sake of Felicity's much beleaguered maid, Fanny. I feel distinctly uncomfortable around Fanny, knowing the trouble I've put her through at Felicity's prodding. I can't help but pity the girl, whom Felicity treats as little more than wall décor. Except this wall has ears and eyes, and of that Felicity is well-aware.

"Quite well, thank you. How are the Worthingtons finding this brisk weather?" I ask tediously, wondering when Fee is going to give Fanny the slip.

"Mother abhors it – she much prefers the sun and the warmth. But Father is delighted. Father, of course, loves anything he considers a challenge." There is a sudden hardness to her eyes, but it is gone in a blink, and I wonder if I didn't imagine it. We pass a shop filled with every imaginable candy and confection. "Shall we look in here?" she suggests mildly. "I do so love sweets."

Fanny is alert and suspicious. Felicity has been remarkably well-behaved, and the maid knows it's only a matter of time until she pulls out her bag of tricks.

"Yes, let's. Perhaps I could find a gift to thank Grandmama and Father for my new gowns."

We press into the shop and Fee whispers in my ear, "There is a side door that leads into the hat shop. When I send Fanny to fetch something, we make a dash for it."

I nod my compliance.

Fee sends Fanny for a ha'pence worth of spice drops. As soon as her back is turned, she takes me by the arm and drags me into the hat shop. Elderly matrons cluck disapprovingly as we shove through them and bolt out the door. Breathing heavily, I feel every stay and each individual bone in my corset, digging into my ribs. Still, Fee rushes on. Quickly, she whips me into a bookseller's and we rush to the back, where we can hide behind the shelves of rarely perused tomes.

By now Fanny will have noticed our disappearance. She will not find us though. After a few minute's fruitless searching, she will have to return home and be berated for her incompetence.

"This is terribly cruel to Fanny," I say guiltily.

"She's nothing but mother's little lackey."

"Your mother will know that you dodged her again."

"No, she won't. I didn't give her a pound note – I gave her a real note. She'll meet us at the confectioner's shop in an hour."

I shake my head at her chicanery, but I'm relieved. At least Fanny will not be punished for our misbehavior.

"When shall we go to the realms?" Fee asks in a whisper, fingering the spines of dusty books.

"I don't know."

"We could go now."

"No!" I object forcefully. Felicity hushes me with a sharp look. She peers nervously between the shelves to see if we've been heard.

"There's not a soul in here. For just a moment, we could visit the garden, then return with no one the wiser."

"Somebody could find us!"

"Nobody will find us, look here." She squeezes between two corner shelves, backed into the small triangle of space between the wall and shelves. Against my better judgment, I follow, looking around furtively as I press into the space. We sink to the floor, pressed against each other, and I envision the door of light.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The garden is not as I remembered. While it is just as beautiful as always, it seems wrong. The sunlight is harsh, making us squint in its too-bright glare. The breeze that once whispered sweetly through the tall grass is now like a sinister whisper, snaking wickedly through the grass. The fruit on the trees is poisonously bright, beckoning to be eaten. The grass is brown and dead around the crumbled remains of the shattered ruins.

"This is wrong," Felicity whispers. "It's… _off._"

"Perhaps we should leave," I say, taking Felicity's hand.

There is a shrill voice behind me. "_Leaving already?_"

Felicity and I whirl on the spot, face to face with Pippa. But not Pippa. This girl is a deranged thing, her beauty flawed by the dangerous hunger that radiates from her emaciated frame. Her violet eyes, once sweet with dreams of true love, are ringed round the iris with circles of blood red. Her lips are cracked and bleeding, and her once-shining ringlets are now lank and stringy, hanging about her pale, starving face in greasy ropes.

Fee gasps, taking a step back, clutching my hand so tightly it hurts. "Pippa!" she gasps.

"_You've only just got here_," she croons, her voice like broken glass and shrieking wind. Two voices issue from her mouth, melding together in a chilling harmony. "_Certainly you wouldn't leave without visiting your dearest friend_?"

"Pippa? What are you doing in the garden?" I ask, forcing strength into my voice.

"_Didn't I tell you, Gemma? There is a way. I needn't cross-over, ever. I may stay forever in the garden. I told you. I told you, but you wouldn't believe me."_

This is not right at all. Mother told me that spirits need to cross over, or else they become dark, twisted things and are banished to the Winterlands. How has Pippa managed to evade the Winterlands? Darkness very nearly drips from her, chilling my bones to merely look in her eyes.

"How did you do it?" I ask, knowing full well that she wants to explain – to detail how wrong I was and spit in my face for my abandonment.

"_I was given power from _her. _Now I may do as I please, coming and going just as you do, Gemma, dear." _Her voices slither over my name with a taunting caress. "_I was given a spirit to command, so that I might use its powers for my own devices._" She smiles garishly, revealing yellow, pointed teeth.

"How can you leave the Realms?" I ask, astonished. "Your body is –" I stop abruptly. When I last saw Pippa, she had not taken so well to her death. Reminding her now is likely a terrible mistake.

Pippa hisses, the sound like a pit of cobras. "_That is where my powers come in, darling Gemma. I do not need a fragile, mortal body any more. I may occupy any I see fit._"

Fee's clutch on my hand has made my fingers go numb. A small sob escapes her, drawing Pippa's power-maddened eyes to her. Her expression softens, and I can almost see the girl I used to know in her wounded eyes. When she speaks, I hear Pippa, with only the faint whisper of another voice. "I visited you, Fee. Did you know? That night your mother came to your room…"

Felicity chokes back another sob, nodding and stepping forward. "Why didn't you say it was you? You left right away!"

"I can't stay for too long," Pippa admits, her gaze hardening at this confession. She adds, sharing her voice again, "_But I will gain power with time. Soon, I will rival you,_" she spits at me. "_And your shiny baubles will mean nothing!_" My hand flies immediately to the crescent eye necklace, stroking it reassuringly.

I swallow past my fear and force myself to meet Pippa's hateful gaze. "Who is the woman who gave you these powers?"

A smug smile spreads over her sallow face, stretching her lips until old cracks reopen and fresh blood speckles her mouth like dew. "_The one you thought you defeated. Circe played your foolish game, and now she has set to putting the realms as they ought to be. She knows your wicked soul, Gemma Doyle. She sees your selfish desire and she will defeat you! You want to rule the Realms as your own, but she will not bow to you! She has raised an army, fueled by all the spirits you have wronged by banishing to that godforsaken wasteland! You will know the meaning of fear when you stand alone, your back to an empty void, facing the legions that will not be imprisoned any longer!_"

With an inhuman shriek, she rushes at us. Felicity clutches my hand again and I take us to the white door.

But Pippa has been brought with us. I throw my hands up over my face as she lunges for me, her clawed hands reaching for my throat. I see only her red-ringed eyes, wide with fury and then a convulsing shiver of the darkest cold envelops me.

She has passed straight through me. I gasp in astonishment, and my breath escapes in a puff of white steam. Felicity's eyes are wide as she stares at me.

"Gemma – your lips… are blue." She touches my mouth gingerly, and draws away with a shiver. At her touch, warmth floods my body, ridding me of the bone-snapping cold. "Normal again," she sighs. But she's wrong. The tips of my fingers and toes tingle numbly, as if I've had them pressed against ice for several minutes. I shake my hands, hoping it will fade.

Pippa snarls, crouched on the ground, her lip pulled back in a feral grimace. But she is not as fearsome as she was before. Traces of humanity have returned to her features. Her cheeks are not so hollow, and her hands are those of a young girl again – not the jagged claws of a gnarled hag. Her lips, no longer cracked, are berry bright and her yellowed teeth have lost their jagged edges.

"_Why, Gemma,_" she croons in her doubled voice. "_You taste delicious._" She leaps for me again, but I wrench open the door of light, shoving Felicity through and whipping it shut behind me.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We ride in silence back home. I rub my hands nervously, unable to shake the icy numbness. Fanny regards the two of us suspiciously, but says nothing. When we pull up to my home I bid Felicity a hollow goodbye and depart her carriage.

I go immediately to my room and pull out a fresh sheet of stationary.

_Kartik,  
__The Rakshana may be the  
__least __of our worries.  
__-Gemma_

_- - -_

_Please reveiw!_


	4. An Unlucky Hand

_Again, thanks for all the positive feedback. I'm really grateful for all the reviews. If you haven't yet, please let me know what you think of the story. I love reviews, whether they be god-worship praise or constructive criticism. Okay, this chapter is a bit short, but I'm halfway finished with Chapter 5, so that will be up soon. Hope you enjoy!_

After answering Grandmama's questions about my shopping, I spend the rest of the evening pacing nervously about the house. I am too anxious to even eat, picking absently at my plate and leaving the table as soon as I am able. I slip into the kitchen multiple times, peering out the back windows into the stable yard. I never see Kartik, nor do I receive a reply note from him. Even Tom has noticed my restlessness, asking if something is amiss. It is times like this, when I see beneath my brother's haughty exterior that I almost wish I could tell him everything. But I don't. I know better. Instead, I shake my head and push past him into the parlor.

When at last everyone in the house is asleep, I make my way down the stairs, silent as a church mouse. I slip out the back entrance and dash across the stable yard as if the devil himself is on my heels. With a creak, the carriage house door swings open and I am inside. I go immediately to the back, where the light of a single candle illuminates the wall. I pray that I will find Kartik alone. As I approach, I can make out the soft sound of his breath, the gentle rustle of clothing as he shifts, the sound of a page turning. But he is not reading aloud – I take that as a good sign.

I peer around the corner of the dilapidated carriage he uses as a bedroom. Kartik sits alone on a stool, his back propped against the wall. He is flipping through _Pride and Prejudice_, scowling.

"I didn't take you for the romantic sort, Mr. Kartik," I say lightly, stepping into the light of the candle. Kartik snaps the book shut, looking embarrassed.

"Is this the sort of nonsense you enjoy reading?" He shakes the book at me like some sort of shameful contraband.

"Nonsense?" I try not to look affronted. I most do not expect my life to be the same, but I did quite enjoy reading the novel. "What do you mean?"

Kartik flips the book open and recites, "'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'" He raises an eyebrow. "Is this the only pastime young women care for? Finding wealthy husbands?"

I scoff. "I believe Miss Austen was making a social commentary rather than asserting her own beliefs." Kartik stares, still looking perturbed. "She was being sarcastic," I elaborate.

Kartik sits back, mollified, and looks at the book again.

"Much as I enjoy discussing literature," I say flippantly, "I do actually have something of importance to tell you. Did you not receive my note?"

"Oh, yes. That was terribly informative – I understand everything, now." His sarcasm has my temper rising. I resist the urge to kick his shins.

"Well," I say icily. "I couldn't very well write, 'Dear Kartik, just thought you should know that Circe has risen again and is assembling a massive army in the Realms. Oh, and by the way, somehow Pippa has figured out how to cross over into this world. Hope you are enjoying this lovely day, yours truly, Gemma.'"

Kartik ignores my jibe. "She's figured out how to cross into _this _realm?"

I nod earnestly. "Felicity and I went to the Realms this afternoon and we met Pippa. She was… terrifying." I shudder at the memory. "She said that Circe had given her a spirit to control and that she visited our world."

Kartik is quiet, digesting this new information. I lean against the carriage, watching his face as he thinks. His dark eyes are downcast, his thumb worries the pages of the book as he bites his bottom lip. I look away sharply as a sense of longing surges through me. Kartik looks up, his attention caught by my rueful sigh.

"Something bothers you?"

I shake my head stiffly. "Only what plagues every other girl: dead friends vowing revenge on my immortal soul, my mother's murderer trying to destroy me, ex-suitors joining the secret society that is hell-bent on my demise. Don't worry yourself over it."

Kartik laughs softly. "You have been dealt an unlucky hand," he commiserates. "But then, so have I." Kartik's sympathy surprises me. I expected him to reply just as sarcastically.

To my absolute horror, I find my eyes stinging with the promise of tears. Resisting them only makes it worse. I look up to the ceiling and blink hard, but the onslaught is inescapable. Hot, salty tears course down my cheeks. I turn away from Kartik trying to steady my voice as I make my excuses.

"Well, it is quite late. I suppose I'd best get to the warmth of my bed." I hope he didn't hear the pathetic wobble in my voice.

"Gemma?" Kartik's voice is uncertain, worried, and it only makes me cry harder. I can't speak without exposing my tears. I make to leave, but there is a hand on my shoulder, pulling me around. Kartik takes in my tear-streaked face silently, then slowly wraps me in his arms, pulling my tightly to him. His kindness destroys any remaining vestige of composure and I sob wretchedly into his chest, soaking his shirt with my tears.

"Shhhh…" he soothes in my ear, smoothing my hair with one hand, holding me tight with the other. "It's hard, isn't it?" he whispers softly, his lips tickling my ear. "Being alone. I know. I know how it feels." Being pressed against him is overwhelming. My chest tingles at the feel of his strong arms, so gentle and secure, his hands so delicate as he runs his knuckles along my cheek… He holds me until my helpless sobs subside. I sniffle weakly as a few last tears trickle down my cheeks. Kartik guides me so that I am sitting on the footboard of the carriage. He sits beside me, our shoulders pressed together. "I've been a bit of an ass, haven't I?"

I shake my head, embarrassed for having acted like such a child. "No, you've been such a help."

"No I haven't. I've been bossing you around and condemning you for being a fool when I should have been praising your courage."

My spirits lift a little, and I manage a flimsy smile.

Kartik continues, "You've had far more demanded of you than any person ought to. You've face monsters that would make a grown man piss himself. You've endured tragedy time and time again. You persevere, when others would run and hide. It's a wonder you're not as mad as Nell Hawkins."

I lean my head against the carriage door, looking up into the rafters. "Perhaps I am mad. It would explain a lot of things." I laugh feebly. "What a paradox, hm? Madness making sense."

Kartik laughs appreciatively. "Life is a paradox."

"Life is madness," I grouse.

"Either way, I promise I'll be here for you." The seriousness of Kartik's tone has my chest tightening. My heart jumps wildly against my sternum as I turn my head to meet his gaze. When our eyes meet, my breath hitches in my throat. Without realizing what I'm doing, I lean forward and press my lips gently against his. Kartik freezes, stunned by my boldness. Mortified, I pull away, staring hard at my knees.

And then I am in his arms again and his lips are pressed against mine, warm and sweet – and urgent. He smells of lye soap and Indian spice, and all things forbidden. His tongue traces my bottom lip and I part my mouth instinctively, welcoming his intrusion. His fingers tangle in my hair and I throw my arms around his neck, clinging for dear life as this heady passion swirls my thoughts and leaves me feeling dizzy and faint. The rest of life melts away and there is only Kartik, strong and warm and safe.

Life returns in a stunning snap as Kartik pulls away, holding me by the shoulders and breathing roughly. I blink, trying to control my breath. The stays of my corset bite into my sides and my chest jumps as I pant in sharp bursts. I peer at Kartik through downcast eyelashes, feigning modesty as best I can after such a thing.

"Gemma… please forgive me." Kartik is flushed a brilliant red, the heightened color in his cheeks somewhat appealing.

"Never," I say, my voice low. Kartik looks up abruptly, his eyes wide. I keep my expression stern. His eyes fall, fixing on the ground. Gingerly, I touch his cheek and press the lightest of kisses on his pursed lips. "Don't apologize," I whisper. Before Kartik can look up or say more, I am on my feet and running, quick as a deer, from the carriage house. My own brazenness has me flushed from my hairline to my toes. "_Harlot!_" I hiss to myself as I slip back in the house.

_Please review!_


	5. Fooled Twice

_Okay, yes, I believe I said that this chapter would be up very quickly... but in my defense, it ended up being a bit longer than I anticipated AND I had a lot of stuff to get done for school. I'm a little unsure about this chapter, so please, please, PLEASE comment! Thank you tons to all of you who've left such nice reviews! You make my heart go all aflutter. However, there are many out there are who reading and NOT reviewing. To those people, I say: I know who you are and I know where you live! Just kidding. (Maybe.)_

The day I've been dreading all week has finally arrived. Sunday – the day of our dinner with the Middletons. I began pretending a headache and stomach complaint early on Saturday evening, to keep Grandmama from being suspicious. Developing illnesses only moments before an unsavory event is something I was rather well-known for as a child and I've no doubt that Mother told Grandmama about that charming habit in her letters.

Grandmama stands at the edge of my bed, dressed in her finest dinner gown, wearing too much jewelry. "Gemma," she frowns, "Are you certain you can't manage sitting through dinner? There will be no dancing and if you don't eat much… well, it will only reflect well on your delicacy. Surely you can manage to sit quietly with us?"

I shake my head, then press my hands wearily to my temples. "Oh, Grandmama, I think I may be quite ill. Can you have a maid send up a bucket?"

Grandmama blanches at the mention of vomit, backing away a step. "If you insist. I'll have the cook send up broth and biscuits."

I smile weakly in thanks, watching as Grandmama bustles out of the room. Success! I listen quietly to the sounds of footsteps downstairs until finally the front door opens and slams shut. I thought they would never leave. With a self-satisfied sigh, I throw off my blankets and sit up, wondering what I'll do with the few hours I have to myself.

A few moments later, there is a knock at my bedroom door. Expecting the cook, I call, "Come in."

The door swings open slowly, issuing a loud creak. I watch, transfixed as the door finally silences, only to reveal Simon Middleton leaning smugly on the door frame. He wears a bemused smirk as he takes in my undress. I'm too surprised to even think of finding my dressing gown. I stand stupidly in my nightgown, staring at him. After a moment of silence, I croak, "What are you doing here?"

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Doyle. Where did you learn your manners?"

Gaining courage, I repeat, "What are you doing in my house?"

"I've just come to pay a visit to the invalid. Nothing too serious, I hope?" His show of propriety is infuriating in such a preposterous situation. I snatch my dressing gown from my wardrobe and throw it hastily around my shoulders.

"How did you know I'm… ill."

"Lying is a sin, Miss Doyle."

"So is breaking and entering, I believe," I retort archly.

"Somehow I suspected you'd worm out of our little rendezvous. I came to keep our appointment." He is smiling easily, but his eyes are hard and cold.

"All I have to do is scream and every servant in the house will be at my door."

"No," Simon tilted his head mockingly, "I don't think they will. You see, I've taken care of the servants."

My blood runs cold as I contemplate what he could have done. "What do you want from me?" I gasp.

"I want what the Rakshana want. I want you to take me to the realms." Simon moves forward, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me to him. "Now."

I wriggle in his grasp, trying to free myself, but he only grips me tighter, squeezing the bones of my wrist painfully. "Stop, Simon!"

Saying his name is like a magic incantation. He releases my hand and draws back from me. He looks haunted, the sharp planes of his face giving him a haggard look of defeat.

"Gemma, just do this. I don't want to hurt you – but I will if you don't cooperate. Make this easy."

"I can't," I answer resolutely, encouraged by Simon's sudden compassion.

It is a mistake. Simon's eyes harden and he steps forward, grabbing my arms and shoving me against the wall. Stars swim before my eyes as my head cracks sharply against the wall. "I said you would cooperate," he snarls, his jaw clenched angrily. "And we can do it the hard way, or the easy way. You choose." His hands are like vices around my arms, gripping me painfully. The back of my head pulses with a sharp pain where I was struck, sending trills of pain down my spine.

I swallow hard and shake my head. "No, Simon. I can't –"

The back of his hand strikes my cheek, hard and sharp, turning my head and making me gasp. I taste blood in my mouth, swallowing dizzily.

"That was a small taste of my seriousness, Gemma. Now be sensible and take me to the Realms."

I nod weakly. "Alright," I say feebly. "But please let me sit for a moment."

Simon releases me and steps away, looking chagrined. I touch my cheek gingerly, feeling the swelling that is already well on its way to being a hideous bruise. How will I explain this one away?

I sit on my bed softly. Simon sits on the rocking chair in the corner, watching me. "You needn't have been so rough," I chastise, trying to stall. Simon ducks his head, looking even more embarrassed. "How will I explain the bruise to my family?"

"I warned you that I would be rough, and you didn't listen. This is your fault entirely." His words are weak, and he continues to stare determinedly at his hands.

"I didn't think that a supposed _gentleman _would slap a defenseless woman," I say sharply, trying to keep him distracted by well-bred shame while I ease off my slippers. They are difficult to run in.

"I told you," Simon repeats wearily, looking up to gauge my reaction. But I am not sitting on the bed anymore. Simons leaps to his feet as I rush from my bedroom and into the hallway. I have the hem of my nightgown in my hands, hitched to my knees, as I leap down the stairs in two bounds. My ankle twists painfully as I land at the bottom of the stairs, but I ignore the pain and rush through the hall, into the servants quarters. With no corset, I feel as if I could run for miles, faster than lightning, but Simon is still much faster. He catches up in seconds, delayed by having taken the stairs safely.

My heart pounds as I rush into the servants' quarters, slamming the door on Simon. There is no time to bother with the lock. I push through the swinging door into the kitchen, kicking it back roughly, and hopefully catching Simon in the face. His amused laughter follows me, echoing frighteningly in my ears. I dash out the back entrance and sprint for the carriage house. Surely he can't have dispatched the stable workers as well?

"Keep running, Gemma. You've lost the advantage you had of knowing your house's layout."

I curse as the truth of his jeer hits me. That's why he didn't catch me right away – out in the open yard there are no obstacles to trip him up with, and he is much faster.

I make it to the carriage-house doors just as Simon bounds up behind me, slamming the door shut just as I had gotten it open. I jump with fright, whirling around to face him, my back pressed against the rough wooden door. Simon grips me by my hair, yanking my head back until tears of pain prickle my eyes.

"Stop!" I cry feebly. Simon only laughs.

"To think I pitied you, you little witch! Now I know better, I suppose." He jerks on my hair, yanking a cry from me. "Now do as I told you. Take me to the bloody Realms!"

I struggle past the pain, trying to form words. "No!"

"I can make this much worse." Simon takes my hand, and bends my pinkie finger back. The pain is blinding as the small finger dislocates with a sickening pop. I cry out sharply, staggering against him. "Shall I do the others, now?" He grips my ring finger.

"No!" I sob. I try to wrench my hand away.

"Alright then, are we going to the realms, then?"

"Yes," I whisper, ashamed of my own weakly cowardice. My only condolence is that I might be able to leave him there and perhaps Pippa will eat him.

Thinking of Pippa makes my blood run cold. "If you are sure you want to go," I warn him darkly.

Simon laughs, a sharp bark. "You don't scare _me_, Gemma Doyle."

"Please let go of my hair. I can't concentrate."

"I won't be fooled twice," Simon snaps, wrenching on my hair again. I bite my tongue to keep from crying out.

"Who's there?" Kartik's voice, strong and familiar, has me sighing with relief.

"Kartik!" I cry, ignoring the burning pain in my scalp as I turn towards him.

Simon snorts contemptuously. "Ah, so you'd be the traitor I succeeded, I presume," he greets Kartik.

"And you would be my replacement," Kartik replies. He looks him over with a raised brow. "Hardly promising." Kartik comes closer, sashaying up with his hands in his pockets, easy as you please. This isn't the time for theatrics! I want to scream at him, but my finger and scalp burn with pain, keeping me from forming coherent sentences.

Kartik draws up level with Simon, looking him in the eye. "Let her go," he orders, his voice low.

"You think that I –"

Kartik pulls his hand from his pocket and presses the barrel of a small dueling pistol against Simon's chest. "I said, let her go."

I can feel as Simon goes rigid, his grip tightening on my hair. "You wouldn't dare. The neighbors would hear and come running. The police would have your head."

Kartik answers by pulling back the hammer. The small click echoes like a bolt of thunder. Simon blanches and releases me immediately, raising his hands and stepping away.

"There. She's all yours."

Kartik holds the gun level, aimed surely for Simon's treacherous heart. "If I hear tell that you've bothered Miss Doyle in any way, even so much as to mention her name ungraciously, I will find you, and you will be reckoned with. Now leave."

Simon backs away slowly, lowering his hands. "Don't think that I will leave this be. I am Rakshana, and we fear no man."

"Then perhaps I should kill you now," Kartik replies evenly.

Simon turns and runs, disappearing down the narrow allow between the carriage house and the hedge. The sound of his footsteps fades into the street. We listen in silence until we can no longer hear him.

I turn to Kartik with a shaky breath. He catches me easily as my knees sag. "Thank you," I gasp, clutching at my heart. Supporting me by the waist, Kartik leads me into the carriage house and back to his little corner. A lone candle is burning, next to my copy of _Pride and Prejudice_.

"Are you alright?" Kartik asks, helping me to sit on the dilapidated carriage's running board. I eye the gun still in his hand, the hammer cocked back.

"Can you put that away?"

Kartik chuckles. "It isn't loaded."

A stab of irritation furrows my brow. "How were you going to dispatch Mr. Middleton with a non-operational pistol?" My tone borders on hysteria, but I am impressed that I've managed to string a sentence together. My knees and hands shake, my head aches both from being slammed against my bedroom wall and from having my hair wrenched on, my throat is dry, and my whole body is numb and clammy.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to that – and I was right." Kartik takes in my rattled expression and nervous shaking. He touches my cheek softly where Simon slapped me. "He hit you," he growls.

"Yes," I agree faintly, trying to keep my vision from fuzzing. "It hurts," I whine.

"You're in shock," Kartik says quietly. "Just relax. Stay here." He returns with a beaten canteen. "Drink." I take a long draught of sweet, cool water. Kartik gasps when he sees my hand.

"Christ, Gemma! Look at this!"

"Simon did that, too," I answer tepidly, eyeing my twisted pinkie. "Don't worry, Tom will fix it. I don't know what I'll tell him though," I muse aloud. "Perhaps that I fell down the stairs? Yes that's a good one… it'll explain my cheek as well."

"I can fix it," Kartik says, cutting off my rambling. He takes the canteen away, despite my protests, and pulls a small flask from his jacket. "Take this. If you think it hurt being pulled out… well… this won't be pleasant."

I sip nervously from the flask, and am rewarded with the fiery burn of cheap whiskey. I swallow bravely, gasping as it burns down my throat. Kartik doesn't even grin. He takes my injured hand gently, his expression grave. "Ready?"

"No," I answer, but he snaps my little finger back in without waiting for my reply. I let out a strangled yelp, as the throbbing pain intensifies into a sharp stab. Kartik rips a strip of linen from an old rag, tying my little finger to my ring finger.

"There. All better," he murmurs, releasing my hand.

"Thank you." I tuck my hands delicately in my lap. Kartik looks at me, but I stare at the ground. This is just where we were last time, and I can't help the heavy blush that floods my cheeks at the memory. The silence is deafening, roaring in my ears. I feel far too warm, my flesh prickles nervously.

"You should go back to the house," Kartik says gently. "I'll take you, to make sure you get there safely." Taking my uninjured hand, Kartik leads me to the house and up the back steps to the kitchen entrance. We stand at the door a moment, the sound of the night filling my ears.

"Gemma," Kartik says softly. "When you said not to apologize… did you mean it?"

I blush hard, feeling as if I'm boiling alive in my light linen gown. "Yes," I answer in a croak. "I did."

Kartik is silent a moment. I use the moment to berate myself mentally for being such an obvious fool. Kartik looks up, his movement drawing my gaze to his face. "Good," he says, his voice low. He leans forward and kisses me softly on the mouth. "Good night, Gemma. Try not to be attacked before dawn, will you?" And with that, he descends the stairs, and returns to the carriage house.

_BWA HAHAHA! Didn't see the GUN coming, did you?! Or the broken pinkie!? Ha! I'm just getting started!_

_Please review!_


	6. Go Back!

_Sorry for taking so long with this one. The semesters almost over, so I've been doing a lot of studying and paper writing and whatnot. Exams next week!! Eeeee! I can pretty confidently say that my next chapter will be up by Tuesday. I've got it half done, and I've pretty much given up on studying at this point. My brain is FRIED. Anyways, thank you all again for the wonderful comments. I love it when you guys tell me nice things. Well, I hope you enjoy this installment - please review. It makes my day. :)_

I do not see Kartik again for several days. When I finally do come across him, it's only in passing. I am with Tom, so I can only nod a polite hello and continue on my way. While I am constantly on edge, always expecting to be suddenly attacked, nothing happens. I do not see or hear from Simon, Kartik sends me no messages, even Grandmama has been peculiarly uncritical.

For my part, I am bored out of my mind. I called on Felicity twice, but both times she was out. I wish desperately that I knew where Ann is. After we left Spence neither Fee nor I ever heard from her again. I hope against hope that she has at least escaped the trap of serving as governess to her vile cousins' children. What a fate.

A week after the run-in with Simon, and I have completely forgotten my original fears. Boredom and loneliness have dulled my senses to the point where I rather long for a little run-in with the Rakshana. I consider darting out to the stable to see Kartik after everyone else has gone to sleep, but on what pretense could I explain my visit? It would be too mortifying for him to know that I came simply because I crave his company. He would think me pathetic, a pitiful, clinging puppy.

Fortunately, excitement soon arrived in the form I least expected.

Late at night, I idle in bed, flipping distractedly through a book of poems. It is a ridiculous, soppy collection, penned by an empty-headed, love-sick nitwit, if ever there was one. But, I can't throw it out, because it was a gift from Grandmama. Irritated, I stuff the volume back onto my bookshelf and go to my window, staring plaintively at the stable.

My door opens slowly, almost inaudibly. I turn to see Emily sliding in, pressing the door shut as quietly as possible. She looks up and grins at me, with a confidence that is not her own. Her face is drawn, pale, and lit from within by an unnatural glow. Her eyes, normally a plain brown, are frightening violet – ringed with red.

I remember Pippa's threatening declaration – that she could cross into my realm – and gasp.

Emily, or Pippa rather, smiles a vicious leer. Her voice is still the double-edged harmony that makes my skin crawl. "_I see you remember, Gemma. But why so pale? You look as if you've seen a ghost._" She cackles mirthlessly.

"What have you done to Emily?" I demand. I sound braver than I feel, but that is often the case with me.

"_She'll be fine_," Pippa admits carelessly. "_She is a tormented girl,_" she sighs after a pause, her wicked eyes alight with fresh mischief. "_She wants your little Indian boy. But she knows that he is yours… Oh, how she could ruin you, Gemma! She sees much more than you know._"

"Poppycock," I deny feebly. There's no way Emily could know anything – I only ever visit Kartik in the dead of night, where prying eyes cannot see us.

"_It's true,_" Pippa insists, delighting in my discomfort. "_Enough about your witless servants. I am here for _you, _Gemma, darling._" She takes a shaky step towards me. I can see that her control over Emily is weak, at best. I take comfort in the fact that she is likely unable to hurt me.

My comfort is short-lived.

She reaches me, Emily's face tight as Pippa concentrates on controlling her limbs. Haughtily, I watch her struggle. She can barely walk. What threat does she pose to me? Pippa's wicked eyes turn up to me, the blood-red circles disarming me.

"_You are mistaken if you think you've nothing to fear from me. I am the most powerful of Circe's followers._" She catches me by the arm, Emily's fingers cold and clammy as they dig painfully into my skin. Before I can shake loose of her, I am consumed by a flash of darkness.

I suddenly stand in a field of blackened flowers and dead, brown grass. The sky is murky, gray, oppressive. A barren wind whistles through the deadened land, stirring the grass in an ominous whisper. The atmosphere is strange – I feel safe, but confused. The smell in the air is like the bitter taste of Absinthe, with no sugar to balance the wormwood. Pippa is next to me, in her own body. She is beautiful again, just as she was in life. There is no hint of the maddened demon that lurks beneath her sweet, violet gaze. Her voice is her own when she speaks to me.

"You see all this, Gemma? This is what _you _have done to the Realms. You have destroyed them with your foolishness – you destroyed the runes, and released the magic in terrible ways. The creatures of the Realms have stolen what they can, and use it for wicked ends. This is why the Order existed – to protect the Realms from their own power. You destroyed the Order. You tried to destroy the one person who could've helped you create a new Order – the one person who knew the secrets that you needed to fix the mess you created. Instead, you turned against her, tried to lock her away." Pippa's voice, while her own, is darkly melancholic. Her prose carries all the weariness of one burdened with revealing the awful truth, against one's will. The smell of bitter wormwood grows stronger. I believe her. The truth of her words rings in my ears like a tolling bell, nearly drowning out the sound of my blood pounding, pulsing.

"No!" I cry, unable to admit to myself that I could have been so mistaken.

Pippa sighs, taking my hand. Hers is surprisingly warm, soft, alive. "She doesn't blame you. Wicked things live in the Realms – you have been misled. Circe will welcome you with open arms. She will help you restore the Order."

Something is not right. I can't put my finger on it. My thoughts seem more confused, disjointed. I can't remember why I ever fought against Circe.

"My mother told me she couldn't be trusted," I say, my muddled brain producing a vague memory of dissent.

Pippa shakes her head sadly. "That was not your mother, in the realms. It was a wicked creature – an illusion."

The word illusion jars another memory of my mother. She warned me of Circe's power of illusion – that she could make me see kittens where there were monsters, and monsters where there were kittens. "No," I say, slowly. The smell of absinthe fades. "She was my mother."

"I knew you would be stubborn. _You are blinded by your pride_." Her voice rasps, an angry hiss, slipping for a second into her shared voice. She purses her lips tightly.

I look around at the barren landscape, clearing my head from the overpowering bitter, intoxicating smell. "This is all a lie!" I realize out loud. "It's an illusion!"

The smell is gone, and suddenly we are back in the beautiful garden. Pippa is hideous again – sallow, emaciated, red-eyed fury. She hisses at me, red eyes narrowed furiously.

"You will never be forgiven, Gemma Doyle! You destroyed the Realms and you turned your back on those who loved you! Now Circe will stand against you, as you stood against her!"

Pippa tries to strike me hard across the cheek, but her icy cold hand only sweeps through my face harmlessly. I feel myself go rigid as her unnatural coldness fills me from head to toe. Her cry of frustration dies on her lips as she flushes, regaining her rosy cheeks and losing the dark circles under her eyes. Her thin, white lips are suddenly full and soft, and her eyes have lost their maddened edge.

"Gemma?" she gasps, her voice completely her own. "You – you've gone pale!" She cries, her concern alarming me more than the paralyzing cold that has consumed me. "You look ill," she whispers fearfully.

"Wh-who are you?" I stammer through chattering teeth.

Pippa looks confused. "I'm Pippa," she says uncertainly.

"Yes," I nod stiffly. "What has happened to you?" By now my whole body is wracked with uncontrollable shivering. Pippa shakes her head.

"What has happened to _you_, Gemma? You must go back!" she cries, gripping arm urgently. Her touch sends another wash of cold over me, and I fear I'll pass out. Pippa flushes with healthy color again, looking almost entirely restored to her original beauty. She recoils from me, looking fearfully at her perfect hands.

"I'm doing this to you!" she cries in anguish. "I'm stealing your strength!" Tears well in her bright eyes, slipping down her cheeks.

I can't find words anymore to voice the questions in my mind. What has happened to Pippa? Why is she… not evil? Pippa shows no concern for her own good fortune. She gestures impatiently at me, careful not to touch me.

"Go back, Gemma! Go back!"

- - -

I am slumped on the floor, next to Emily. A fearful coldness plagues my limbs, but nothing so awful as what I felt in the realms. I rub my arms and blow on my hands, but nothing helps.

Emily stirs. Her eyes open wide, going to me.

"Oh my God," she gasps. "I saw it all."

_Voila! Cliff-hanger! Please review! I will love you forever!_


	7. I Was Beautiful

_Sorry for taking so long - computer bug has officially been fixed. Thank you so, so much for all your reviews - they make me want to put up a new chapter every half hour, just for the praise, lol. There's a little gem in here that I've beent thinking on for a while, but haven't been able to find a good way to introduce it. Hope you enjoy!_

_Edit: In my hurry to get this one up, I didn't proofread. I fixed all the mistakes (I think). :)_

I can barely think for the numbing cold that has consumed me. Emily's wide, astonished eyes beg an answer. I falter, uncertain how to respond. Deny it outright? Beg her not to tell anyone? Deck her and run like the wind?

"All of what?" I ask evasively, trying to buy time. Maybe I can convince her that she's completely mad. Guilt washes over me at the idea – how much had I suffered over the idea of being insane when I'd first begun having visions? It wouldn't be fair. But it is the only way.

"I came into your room," she explains slowly, distantly, like one remembering a dream. "But I couldn't control my body… and then you took me somewhere… somewhere frightening – and beautiful…"

I give her a worried look. Hating myself for it, I ask uncertainly, "Are you quite alright, Emily? You collapsed on the floor – I thought you were having a fit!"

Emily is confused. She shakes her head slowly, blinking. Relief washes over me; I can see her conviction fading fast. "No," she says feebly, "I was there – I was beautiful…"

The reminder of Pippa's beauty stings. As lovely as Emily is, she is no match for Pippa. Even so, she is more lovely than me, and now I know that she wants Kartik as much as I do. Surely if we were to stand side-by-side, and Kartik and I weren't tied together by this tangled web of lies, he would pick her. All compassion flees me, and I feel no remorse in making Emily feel as mad as a hatter.

"Yes, you are rather handsome," I say sardonically, "though I rather prefer you when you're not sprawled on my bedroom floor."

Emily looks embarrassed and ashamed. Nobody likes feeling a fool. "Forgive me, Miss Doyle. I'll be getting back to the kitchen now." Her flushed cheeks return my sympathy. Even though she is lovely, she is only a maid. She was born into a station that she will never escape, just as I was born into a tangled web of lies that I will never escape.

"Are you certain you're well enough to work?" I ask again. The least I can do is give her a reprieve from her duties.

"Yes, quite," she replies meekly as she smoothes her skirts. She bobs a quick curtsy and darts from my room. I let a pent-up shiver roll down my spine, rattling my bones like china on a crowded tray.

"Well done, Gemma," I snarl to myself. "It seems you _are _a beast."

- - - - -

As per usual, I sneak down to the stable after everyone else has fallen asleep. Or so I think. As I tip-toe through the kitchen, I detect a shadow in the corner. I freeze instantly, presuming the worst. Simon has returned – or perhaps someone larger and more prone to violence. Though after the way our last meeting ran, I wouldn't put much past him anymore.

"Who's there!" I hiss. No use in hiding – I've doubtlessly been detected, what with the rustling of my skirts and my graceless collision with the half-closed kitchen door.

"It's me, Miss," comes Emily's meek response. I bite back an oath, clenching my fists tightly.

"What are you doing up?" I snap, harsher than I meant to.

"I couldn't sleep," she answers after a pause. I hear her inhale sharply, gathering courage for what comes next, "What are _you _doing up?"

I'm slightly taken aback by her audacity. "I couldn't sleep, either," I answer tersely. I don't have time to play games. "You should return to your room," I say as politely as I can.

It seems she only had enough courage to question me once. Deflated, she says, "Yes, Miss." She brushes past me, saying, "Pardon," as our shoulders brush. A moment later she freezes. In the darkness, I can see her hand go to her shoulder. "You're freezing!" she whispers, chafing warmth back into her skin.

I step away sharply. "I left the window open in my room," I lie quickly.

She seems not to hear me. "Pippa…" She mutters the name curiously, like something recently learned, but still foreign to her mouth. I sense her wonderment – why did this name come to her? I cut her off before she can put two and two together.

"No, I'm _Gemma_," I 'correct' her archly. "You must be very tired. I think you really should hurry to bed."

Emily nods and pushes through the kitchen door. Only when I hear her footsteps ascending the stairs do I breathe, and continue on my way to the stable.

When I make it back to Kartik's corner, there is no candlelight, as I've come to expect. I put my hands out and fumble blindly in the darkness, trying to find the door to the carriage that he sleeps in.

"Kartik," I whisper into the darkness, sighing with relief as my hand brushes the wheel well of the familiar structure. I trace the contours of the vehicle to the iron door-pull. "Kartik!" I hiss sharply. I can hear his deep, even breaths. I cannot see his face, but I can imagine it. In sleep he is washed of all his stoicism and bossiness. He is innocent… vulnerable. I want to crawl into the coach, but I fear what will happen if I do.

Kartik shifts, murmuring groggily, "Gemma?"

"Right here," I answer in a whisper, though there is no need. The other lads sleep in the loft on the other end of the stable. But there is something about the dark, and Kartik's proximity that compels me to keep my voice low. "I need to speak to you. I visited the Realms again."

Kartik is fully awake in an instant. I hear him sit up sharply, his hands fumbling along the floor of the carriage. A match hisses into life, going immediately to the wick of a thick white taper, distorted with the runny wax trails of previous uses.

After the candle has caught, and I look to Kartik, I realize with shock that he is shirtless. His tawny chest is taut with muscle, gleaming faintly in the low light. I look away with a gasp, ducking my head to hide the flush that has flooded my cheeks. Why can we never have a normal conversation? Why must I always be red-faced and completely uncertain of my standing around him? I wish I were bold and fearless like Felicity. But then, she and Kartik don't get on so well, so maybe not.

Kartik laughs softly. "May I help you, Miss Doyle?" he asks mockingly.

"Yes," I snap. "You wouldn't be amiss with putting on a shirt!"

Kartik laughs again. When he speaks, though, his tone is serious. "Why so shy, Gemma? I thought we had come to somewhat of… an understanding."

"I..." I don't know anymore. The past few hours have been maddening, waiting to see him so that I could tell him about Pippa and the Circe. During those hours I had plenty of time to dwell on what Pippa told me about Emily. She wants Kartik. She could easily take him from me. Our meetings are all clandestine, stolen moments, mostly spent debating about the two forces that would like to see me dead. Hardly romantic. Emily on the other hand, is a servant – a dalliance with an Indian boy would hardly be damaging to her reputation. She could see him all the time, on any pretense, and not have to keep her voice down.

"Gemma?" Kartik asks, uncertain.

"Yes, of course," I answer too quickly. "I mean, that is… if you still want to…" I trail off, morbidly embarrassed. What an awful discussion.

"Do _you _still want to?" Kartik demands.

I exhale slowly. I don't want to beg affection from him.

"Gemma, turn around," Kartik orders. I swivel slowly, obeying without thinking. Kartik has pulled a shirt on, and he is leaning out the carriage window, scowling. "Tell me the truth," he demands.

I look down at my feet. "Yes," I mumble. "I do – if you do."

His hand is under my chin, tilting my head up to receive a soft, sweet kiss. "Good. I do too." The touch of his lips lingers on mine, like a feverish flush.

I smile softly, all insecurities banished. For now, at least.

"Christ, Gemma. You're ice cold!" Kartik's fingers are at his lips.

"I know, I'll explain that."

"It has to do with the realms?" Kartik asks, pushing the door open and extending his hand to help me in. I take a seat across from him, assembling my thoughts. After I've explained the situation to my satisfaction I sit back to observe his reaction.

"I would think that's a good thing," Kartik muses. "She's back on your side, right?"

I shake my head, my arms folded tightly over my chest in a desperate effort to get warm. My lips are still warm from Kartik's kiss. A half-formed idea occurs to me, and before I've thought it out entirely, I am reaching out to Kartik, taking his hands. His warmths floods my fingers like an invisible glow, slowly tracing up my arms. I can feel my blood singing in my veins as I am rewarmed. Or perhaps, that's just because I'm touching Kartik.

"Gemma," Kartik whispers, astonished. "You really are freezing." He loosens himself from my grip and runs his hands up my arms, gliding over my shoulders. When his fingers graze my neck, I feel his warmth again, spreading through my skin, my flesh, my bones. He cups my cheeks with his hands and kisses me again, hard and unrelenting. Warmth floods me in a dizzying rush. I feel feverish, though whether it's from this sudden warmth or Kartik's kiss, I cannot say.

Kartik pulls away gently. I slowly open my eyes, taking in his amused expression.

"Better?"

I nod dumbly. "Much," I agree in a whisper.

"Good." He leans forward and kisses me again. This time he's softer, slower. His lips are like velvet against mine, and his tongue traces the contour of my bottom lip. Instinctively, my lips part for him. My arms are around his neck, and I'm pulling him to me. His weight presses me against the velvet seat while his hands trace my skin through the thin barrier of my dressing gown.

His fingers drift cautiously over my collar bone, slipping down, brushing me softly. A soft moan escapes me. Encouraged, his large hands slide back up my torso, clutching the soft swells of my breasts. My fingers are knotted in his hair, as his thumbs trace maddening circles.

A soft thump on the other end of the stable startles us both. We freeze, staring wild-eyed into the darkness. With one quick movement, Kartik reaches down and snuffs out the candle.

"Go," he whispers in my ear.

I leap from the carriage and run for the house, blood pounding rampantly in my ears. Filled with an energy I can't contain, I leap up the stairs and tear into the kitchen. Once inside the house, I am more careful. I take careful, even steps as I make my way to the stairwell.

On my way, I see that there is a single light burning in the study. I tiptoe carefully past, wondering who is up at this hour. The floorboards creak treacherously under my feet; I take minute steps. As I pass the door of the study, I peer in. Tom is slumped over his desk, sound asleep.

Curiosity and compassion move me in equal measures. I tip-toe carefully over to Tom. His head rests on an unfinished letter, made out for a Surrey. I wonder if he is perhaps writing a relative of one of his patients. It is terribly kind of Tom to write to the families and keep them posted on their loved ones' health. The page is blotted with ink, leaving smudges on Tom's cheek. His pen is curled in his hand, leaking ink onto the sleeve of his shirt. I pull the pen carefully from his fingers, but as soon as it is out of his grasp, he startles awake.

"Gemma!" Tom rubs blearily at his eyes. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"Me? What about you?"

"That's none of your concern." Tom seizes the unfinished letter and crumples it roughly. "Mind your own affairs, Gemma." A heavy flush floods his cheeks and he stands suddenly. "Your own business. Mind your own business."

I snort, most unladylike, and turn to leave. That's my payment for thinking kind things about Tom. I stomp back into the hall and make my way towards the stairs.

"Gemma?" Grandmama comes around the corner in her dressing gown. She blinks foggily in the light from the study. I forgot that Grandmama's bedroom is down the hall from the study. My tantrum must have woken her.

"Hello Grandmama. I was just getting back to bed."

"What are you doing down here? A young lady should not be wandering about in the dead of night."

"Sorry, Grandmama. I couldn't sleep."

Grandmama tsks, but returns to bed.

Tom regards me curiously. "What is the truth, Gemma?"

"Just that," I say casually. "I couldn't sleep."

Tom sighs. "Whatever you're doing… be careful."

I look meaningfully at his ink smudged face. "I could say the same for you."

Tom scowls and pushes roughly past me, leaping up the stairs two at a time.

I really hate this skulking about business. It would be so much easier if I didn't have to dodge Tom and Grandmama every time I need to see Kartik. Though I can just imagine how that conversation would go. _Excuse me Grandmama, I need to go speak to our Indian coachman in a dark corner with no chaperone – you don't mind, do you No, no, I'm not mad. It's Circe who's a bit touched, if you ask me. Who's Circe? Oh, only the woman who had Mother killed over a matter concerning another world that I alone can access. I'll only be a minute. Yes, I'll give Mr. Kartik your regards_

I hold back a derisive snort as I make my way back upstairs and into my own bedroom. I am still wound with an unshakable frenzy. I am jittery and clumsy and too fast. I toss my dressing gown onto the floor and leap into bed, ripping the covers over myself.

The house is silent. When my breathing slows and my heartbeat no longer drowns out thought, I find I am still restless. I feel unfinished, incomplete. I want to pace, I want to shout, I want to dance. Most of all, I want to return to Kartik.

- - - - -

The next morning at breakfast, Grandmama looks particularly pleased.

"I have good news," she informs us beatifically. Tom and I glance at each other. Father looks mildly interested. Grandmama's flights of fancy rather amuse him, though he would never let her know. Grandmama takes herself very seriously, and though he often patronizes her, Father would never insult her.

"Yes, Grandmama?" Tom asks dutifully.

"The Middletons have invited us to their Christmas Ball!" she declares happily.

I gape unattractively, a spoonful of porridge halfway to my mouth.

"Gemma, mind your manners and don't look so appalled. The Middletons are a lovely family," she enthuses.

"Perhaps the young Mr. Middleton is still enchanted with our Gemma," Father suggests with a playful smile. I smile back, but inside I am screaming. Not again!

"Perhaps!" Grandmama agrees eagerly. "Oh how wonderful!"

"Yes," I agree hollowly. "Marvelous."


	8. May I Have This Dance?

_This one took me a long time, and I don't even have the excuse of it being super long or anything like that. It's pretty medium in terms of length. But I took a while figuring out exactly what I wanted to do with it, so finally, I typed it up and I'm quite pleased. This fic may NEVER end, because I keep thinking up new ideas and trying to weave in the old stuff and blah blah blah. So I hope you like it!_

The Middleton's Christmas Ball is all I expected and more. The ballroom is filled with laughter, chatter, and dancing. There are tables piled high with drink and food, which the ladies conscientiously avoid, while the older gentlemen tuck away merrily. Every guest is dressed in their finest – rich silks and brilliant gems on full display. I feel particularly well-dressed in my jade green silk gown, cut daringly low on the bosom, but not nearly so daring as Felicity's gown. My corset presses my breasts up, pleasant half-moon swells, with a decorous lace trim and cap sleeves to keep me within the realm of decency. I chose a jade-green silk, with gathered skirts and emerald petticoats and trim. Yesterday, Kartik said that the gown matched my eyes…

But I can't think of him now. I must think of my dance partner. I mustn't look disinterested or dull or careless in any way. Though I hardly play by the rules of society, I must keep up the pretense, for the sake of my family. Even if my partner is inexplicably dull. He is a barrister, and won't shut up about it. I want to tell him I haven't the slightest interest in his bloody cases, but that would hardly be ladylike behavior.

When the dance finally ends, I refrain from sighing my relief, and curtsy to my partner.

"Perhaps I might have another dance with you, Miss Doyle?" he asks before I can scurry away.

"I am very flattered, Mr. Hewitt, but I must decline. You see, my dance card has been filled for the evening," I lie easily.

Mr. Hewitt doesn't appear too terribly put out. "Of course. Then I bid you enjoy your evening."

"Thank you, sir." I curtsy once more, then hurry off on the pretense of trying to locate my next dance partner. My card hasn't been filled, so I'll have to coerce my father into a dance. He's not terribly fond of dancing – he prefers to entertain with his endless stories – but if I make my eyes big enough, he'll humor me.

As I weave through the throngs of people, I catch sight of Felicity, accepting an invitation to dance from none other than the delightful Mr. Hewitt. I try to give her a warning glance, but she doesn't see me. She takes his hand, and he ushers her to the dance floor.

I suppress a smile, and move on. Father should be somewhere around the food, with the other gentlemen.

"Miss Doyle. May I have this dance?" Simon cuts me off, bowing neatly. I can't very well refuse him in this crowd without drawing notice. Tightlipped and wary, I nod my acceptance. He takes my hand, drawing my rigid arm away from my side, and leads me onto the floor just as the orchestra takes up the next tune. With practiced ease, Simon takes my hand, settling his other hand securely at my waist. We glide into the steps of the waltz with ease, the familiar routine falling into the background of my mind as I consider the level of danger I'm in.

"Mr. Middleton," I say calmly, forcing a confidence that I don't feel. "How nice to see you. Our last meeting ended… rather abruptly." I let a small smile curl the corners of my mouth. I won't taunt him outright, but I have to let him think that I don't fear him.

Simon smiles ruefully. "Yes," he agrees, surprising me with his congeniality. "It was a rather unpleasant way to leave, but the circumstances required I go hastily."

I nod sympathetically, though I am anything but. His sudden friendliness is disconcerting – what does he know that I don't? And why has it put him such a genial mood? It can't be good news for me, whatever it is. I pause before answering him, picking my words carefully. Our conversation has to vague enough that nobody else understands, but specific enough that the two of us know the meaning.

"I thought you might regard me with a less than pleasant demeanor, considering the unfortunate circumstances of our last meeting," I hint.

Simon nods. "You would have, had things not changed. There is something important that I need to discuss with you."

"Oh?"

Simon dips his head forward, and murmurs, his voice low, "It concerns a friend of yours."

I know he doesn't mean Felicity, for he would have mentioned her name directly. "Ann?" I whisper, confused?

Simon shakes his head. "That fraud that Felicity was touting around last year? No."

I narrow my eyes at his insult, but say nothing.

"I'm talking about Miss Cross."

My eyes go wide, and I can hardly think of what to say. I misstep and Simon's foot comes down on mine. I want to yelp with pain, but I bite it back. "You're mistaken," I sputter, too loudly.

Simon gives me a warning glance as we recover our footing. "No, I don't think I am," he says breezily.

"You are," I insist tensely, my voice a whisper. "Pippa's dead."

Simon shrugs. "In a manner of speaking."

He knows! First Emily, now Simon. Who else shall find out about Pippa? Perhaps I should just go tell all my family and be done with it. "What do you mean?" I ask, playing dumb.

"You know what I mean, Gemma." Simon rolls his eyes, and suddenly he's the young man I met last Christmas. When he meets my gaze again, the hardness has returned to his features, and he is the new, cold Simon again. The Simon of the Rakshana.

"Alright, suppose I do? What do you want from me?"

"That is what I need to discuss with you privately."

"Fine. But I won't go anywhere where my screams can't be heard."

Simon smiles, satisfied. "As you wish."

We are only halfway through the dance, and I have nothing more to say. My history with Simon is complicated at best, and small-talk is really beyond us. He courted me, I rejected his proposal, and he now belongs to an organization that is apparently hell-bent on my demise. Hardly the material for friendly banter. I try to observe the couples around us as we twirl mechanically through the steps, but Simon's steely gaze is riveted on me. My eyes are repeatedly drawn to his, but he never speaks, so I look away quickly.

Finally, Simons says quietly, "I meant what I said to you – when I first visited. Do you remember what I said?"

"You told me to be careful," I answer levelly, not meeting his eyes.

"Ah yes, I meant that as well. But I'm talking about the more genteel part of our conversation. When we talked about… secrets."

"Well, obviously you knew my secret."

"I wanted to help you. I wanted to save you. But you wouldn't let me – you're too stubborn, unreachable."

"I am not," I deny hotly.

Simon laughs ruefully. "No – I suppose you let the Indian boy _help_ you all he wants." He gives the word "help" a malicious twist, a rude insinuation that is more true than he probably realizes.

"How dare you," I growl, a furious blush making me unpleasantly warm. Before I can defend myself – and Kartik – the music comes to an end, and the dance is over. Simon escorts me silently from the floor.

"Let's go to the study. Your screams will easily be heard there," he assures me patronizingly.

I draw away from him sharply, drawing stares. "I have already committed to the next dance, Mr. Middleton," I say smoothly. If there is going to be any gossip about me, let it be that I spent the evening rebuffing Simon Middleton's over-eager attempts at courtship. Simon scowls at my rather ingenious refusal. "I will find you when I'm not otherwise engaged," I inform him in a smug whisper as I brush by.

He grabs me discreetly by the arm, interrupting my regal departure. "Meet me in the study when this dance is over." His stern tone brooks no argument. And he leaves, giving me no choice but to comply. I have to find out what he knows about Pippa.

The next dance is actually promised to Tom, which could easily be avoided, but I don't want to give Simon the satisfaction of being able to boss me around like a half-wit. Kartik easily ordered me around in the early days, when I knew little of what was happening to me. Now, I still know very little, but I've learned to grasp onto any control I might have over a situation, and never let go.

I dance with Tom, wondering over the fact that he hasn't teased me at all about finding him a wealthy wife amongst my acquaintances.

"No lady here is wealthy enough for you?" I ask him.

Tom looks confused. "What?"

"You haven't asked me to find a wife," I say, exasperated.

Tom doesn't even look sheepish – he looks distracted. "Oh, yes. Do continue searching." His words are half-hearted and dismissive. I eye him suspiciously, but he carries on through the steps of the dance, oblivious to my scrutiny.

When the dance comes to an end, I curtsy to Tom and go to the study, as Simon said. I have to slip away sneakily, waiting until I am certain that nobody sees. As I dart into the study, I find Simon seated in a plush chair. I push the door shut quietly, watching him carefully. He rises languidly, and walks towards me, coming closer and closer... too close. He slows, but continues to draw up to me, until our noses are nearly touching and my back is pressed against the door. Simon's lips are close to mine, and his eyes drift down to them slowly. I inhale sharply as his arm slides around me, ready to scream bloody murder. I realize though, that there is nowhere in the house that my screams would be heard, except for within the ball itself. The thick study door will easily muffle the sound, and any residual noise will be blanketed by the orchestra.

His hand slides up my back and I shiver, drawing away from his hand, and effectively pressing myself against his body. Simon smiles wolfishly, his eyes gleaming. His hand stops its suggestive progress, and I hear a click behind me. He's locked the door. His smile curls, and he steps away from me.

I exhale softly, trying to keep the relief from my features.

"Now what's this all about?" I demand.

"You smell like roses," Simon says softly.

"I won't – pardon?"

"Like roses," he repeats. The wolfish gleam never leaves his eyes, no matter how soft his voice is. "When we first met, at Victoria station, I noticed it. You still smell like roses – sweet, intoxicating." Simon's words roll through the air like velvet, confusing and frightening me.

"You wanted to – to, um, talk about Pippa?" I stammer.

Simon nods, and takes a step closer, coming back to me. I flatten myself against the door, eyeing him nervously. How could I have been so stupid, to have allowed myself to be drawn away from safety by a member of a the Rakshana! I had an entire ballroom full of witnesses to protect me, and I willingly agreed to leave with him, like a sheep dancing into the slaughterhouse.

And then there is only a hair's breadth between us, and the space is filled with a raw electricity, a magnetism, the begs me to close the distance between us. Slowly, as if in a trance, Simon raises his hand, softly tracing the contour of my jaw. A wicked shiver runs through me, and I know this is wrong – he's Rakshana! He wants to kill me! And what about… what about… Kartik?

His name is lost as Simon's mouth descends on mine, and I find I have thrown my arms around his neck, pulling him to me desperately. His kiss is demanding, angry, passionate in a way that frightens me. But I answer his passion with my own, heedless of my surroundings, my morals, my pride. Simon's hands are on my waist, holding me tight against him, and slowly rising. His breath is sweet with whiskey, and the smell reminds me of a time when I was even wilder than now.

The memory is of a time when Pippa was alive and her beauty was unmarred by dark spirits and vengeance. The thought of her name is like a dousing of cold water. I pull away from Simon, breaking our kiss with a gasp. His eyes are hooded, bright with passion.

"No," I sigh, breathless. "We have to talk about Pippa."

Simon blinks and runs a hand through his hair, regaining his composure. "Alright," he says, sounding just as breathless. He settles into a chair and regards me levelly, feigning nonchalance. "You can tell me why she's decided to kill me."

_Yes, I realize I am pure evil. I really just love nothing more than cutting the story off right at a pivotal moment. And then I rub my hands together and laugh devilishly. Okay, maybe not. Anyways, please don't kill me for the Gemma-Simon thing. I've got a theory behind it. Remember the whole Rakshana-Order-Lovers thing and the Cave of Sighs and all that business? Okay, that's my hint. I'm sure you'll figure it mostly out. Give me reviews and I will give you cookies!_


	9. Yes, Of Course

_Ugh – I know – this one took really long again. My internet connection is unstable at the best of times (one of the many perks of living in the country) so I wasn't able to get online for several days. So finally, I have the next chapter up, and I really hope you enjoy it. I must say that I really had trouble with the tenses here, because I'm also working on a Twilight fic that is written in past-tense. So if the tenses jump around a lot, I apologize. I checked it twice, but I always seem to miss stuff. Also, this one is very short, but I promise I will put up Chapter 10 on Monday, even if I have to drive to a friend's house and use their internet connection. AND, as an extra special treat, if I get fifteen reviews tonight (which I sincerely doubt, but a girl can dream) I will put up Chapter 10 TOMORROW. (Yes, I have absolutely no shame.) Tee hee. Love you all._

_Oh, and big, chewy, fudgy cookies for all of you who reviewed, and thanks soooo much for all the praise and whatnot. You guys rock._

_A note for understanding – "the ton" was a term used back in the day to refer to the elite of London society. Basically the wealthy and aristocratic._

"What?" I am taken aback by Simon's statement. It is probably the last thing I ever expected.

Simon smiles ruefully. "She's able to cross into our realm –"

"Yes, I know that," I interrupt impatiently. Simon gives me a silencing look.

"Last night she paid me a visit, and she brought several knives with her."

I am torn between shock and amusement. While I rather enjoy the idea of Simon dodging an armed ghost, I can't believe that Pippa has come to such great power. While it seems she may be momentarily on my side if she's attacking my enemy, her true nature has been twisted by the dark creatures of the Realms, and so I cannot rely on her sudden fealty.

"You seem surprised," Simon says, breaking the silence and interrupting my thoughts. "I take it that you did not put her up to this?"

I scowl at him. "I would never attack somebody to serve my own agenda," I snap, reminding him of his own treachery.

Simon only smiles languidly. "But would you kiss him?"

"What?"

Simon rises from his seat, eyeing me predatorily. I know where this is going, and I feel myself being pulled into his gaze again. I fight the dizzy hypnotism that comes over me, looking sharply away.

"Mind your tongue in the presence of a lady," I say shrilly.

"That is exactly what I intend," Simon says silkily, his tone husky as he draws up to me. I look away determinedly, but I can feel myself weakening. Simon's lips are at the curve of my ear, his fingers trailing over the exposed skin between my sleeve and my glove. "Why fight, Gemma? I know you feel it, just as I do. You and I together… we could be very powerful." He hooks his finger at the top of my glove, sliding it off delicately.

I close my eyes as a shiver runs sinuously down my spine. His proposal is like a heady liquor – the idea of power appeals to me… far more than it should. Simon senses my weakening. His free hand slides up my other arm, teasing the sensitive skin of my neck with the tips of his fingers. He catches my chin and turns my head to face him. "Simon… I –"

Simon cuts off my feeble objection with a kiss. It is soft, sweet, gentle. It is not what I expected from him. He draws away slowly. When I open my eyes again, my gaze meets his. The passion in his eyes is enough to consume me, and a thrilled tremor rushes through me. Simon discards my glove and raises his hand, gently tracing the contours of my jaw, my neck, my lips…

"Simon," I whisper, spurred by some distant recollection of modesty. "We cannot do this."

Simon kisses me again, stealing my breath in the lightest of touches, his lips barely grazing mine. "Yes, we can," he whispers huskily, my face cupped in his hands. "You and I are not ordinary, Gemma. We belong to something bigger and grander than this mediocre world – we are gods among men," his passion grows as he speaks, his voice rising. "We know the secrets of the world, and you – you _control _those secrets!"

I feel myself being swept away by Simon's fervor, caught up in the heady rush of power and carelessness. Simon's voice dips low again, rough with conviction. "Take what belongs to you Gemma – don't be frightened by the lies of old men – for _they _are afraid of _you_."

"What are you talking about?" I ask breathlessly, still caught in his hands.

"I'm talking about _power_, about_ life_, about _you and I_."

"I don't understand." I shake my head slowly. Simon lets his hands fall to my shoulders.

"You are the _new_ Eve – don't let them take the Garden from you."

"What?"

He answers me with another kiss, this one hungry and demanding and angry, driven by his thirst for whatever power he thinks we have together. Though I know it's wrong – I can't think why, and whatever vestige of my conscious remains is soon defeated by the need that courses through my veins. Suddenly Simon's words make sense in my delirium. All along, I have obeyed. But now, I will taste the fruit of life and languish in the Garden, and none shall take it from me – because _I _hold the key.

Simon trails hungry kisses down my neck, nipping the skin there and setting it aflame. He traces the line of my collarbone, and I cling to him, willing his choice to be mine, letting myself fall away into worriless oblivion. His hands are at the back of my gown, fumbling with the buttons there. In turn, my fingers are at his chest, unfastening his evening jacket and nimbly undoing the row of clean, white buttons.

His breathing is like the beating of my heart, rapid, shallow, erratic. I feel my blood in my veins, singing a song that only the two of us understand. In my mind's eye, I see the Caves of Sighs, and I suddenly long to feel the length of him, pressed against me, holding me tight. I breathe his name, and he answers with a soft groan.

With a resounding crash, the door of the study breaks open. Astonished, we leap apart from each other, but there is no mistaking the intent in our eyes. Standing at the door are our families, their faces reflecting even more shock than our own.

Simon bows gallantly. "Good evening to you all. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I want to kick him for it, but I've managed to land myself in enough trouble for one evening.

Finally, Simon's mother says, "There's been a fire in the ballroom – it's been put out, but we worried when we couldn't find the two of you."

"What in the devil's name is going on here?" Father growls suddenly, having just regained his breath, no doubt.

"This is not what it appears," I stammer fearfully, dreading my father's disappointment and inevitable depression. I am his little girl, and I've let him down.

"Oh, dear," Grandmama mutters, not sure how to react. "Perhaps we should all sit down, for a private discussion?"

Tom presses the others in, closing the door quickly, lest anybody walk by and see what needs be kept private. Tom and Grandmama's complete calm in the face of such a scandal is rather disconcerting – I expected Father to laugh it off, while Tom and Grandmama made the fuss. Not so.

"It seems," Grandmama begins hesitantly, after everyone has found a seat, "that young Mr. Middleton may have – compromised… our Gemma." Her cheeks color slightly, but she surveys the others calmly.

"Nothing of the sort happened!" I burst out from my seat beside Tom. Tom gives me a look that suggests silence is the wisest course, and I subside.

"Well, then," Father growls. "What has 'young Mr. Middleton' got to say for himself?" He looks as though he'd gladly kill Simon.

Seated between his parents, Simon is completely unruffled. "I'd have to say that, yes, I fear Gemma's reputation has rather been compromised. Several people, no doubt, saw us leave the ballroom together. And when we were found missing during the fire, and later turn up together, well… that will only make things worse for her, I would think."

Tom and Grandmama glance at each other. Simon's parents have the decency to look properly ashamed. Father's fists are clenched tightly in his lap, and there is a vein protruding from his neck.

"Then there's no question – the two must be wed," Grandmama declares resolutely. Lord and Lady Denby glance at each other. Lady Denby looks as if she'd like to say something, but in the face of her son's poor manners, she can't quite pull off the righteousness that she would like.

Simon speaks up, "Of course. There's no question. I would gladly wed you, Gemma." He slides from his chair, and kneels at my feet. I feel myself growing faint. This can't possibly be happening. It can't be that, one year after I first rejected him, I am being involuntarily wed to him! A glance at Father assures me there is no room for argument. He has lost his infuriated demeanor – Simon's affection for me has won him over. He doesn't realize what a skilled actor Simon is.

Simon smiles and takes my hands in his. "Gemma Doyle, would you be my wife?"

With horror, I hear my answer as if another person is speaking for me: "Yes. Yes, of course."

_Dum, dum, DUMMMM!! Tune in next week (or maybe __**tomorrow**__ – 15 reviews, that's all I'm asking!) for the continuation. This has been Old Secrets, an inksmudged production._


	10. Just Go

_Oh my God, I feel so incredibly stupid. I uploaded the document, but I never actually added the chapter to the story! Gar! I kept checking the site, wondering when the tenth chapter was going to show up and it never did - so finally, the cogs in my rusty brain started turning and a very dim bulb flickered on. Agh. Well, even if it's late - I still got it up on Monday. Sorry guys, if I can think of something cool, I might put up a little bonus chapter tomorrow or wednesday. Just something fun to make up for me being completely brain-dead today. Or perhaps I'll make Midnight Whispers into a twoshot... I'm not sure yet. __You guys are so completely awesome! Over the weekend I managed to rack up those fifteen reviews I was after, so thanks oodles! Here is the promised Monday installment (finally). _

If Kartik notices my wan, distant expression, he gives no indication. We maintain our façade of professional aloofness as he helps me into the carriage. I can't even meet his gaze to offer him a secret smile.

I sit in stunned silence next to Grandmama. Father and Tom each look out their carriage windows. Nobody speaks. Even Grandmama, who I expected to be absolutely delighted over her granddaughter's engagement to a viscount's son, is quiet, introspective. I suppose she's less inclined to brag about my advantageous marriage considering the circumstances that surrounded the proposal.

We arrive home and I drift up to my room like a ghost. It's only when I've shut my door and sunk to the floor with a shaky sigh that the true horror of everything hits me. I've agreed to marry a man who wants me dead! And what about… what about Kartik? I certainly didn't ever expect to marry him, it would be impossible – even if we eloped, no vicar would agree to marry us. But I'm being foolish. Who says Kartik even cares to marry me? We're just two people bound together by tragedy and chance. Still, I suppose I'd rather he hear about the engagement from me.

As I've always done, I wait until I'm sure the family is asleep and then sneak down to the kitchen. This time I don't encounter anybody, and I slip easily out the back door. Kartik is still awake, leaning elegantly against the stable wall, as if expecting me. He probably was.

"Gemma," he says quietly, a soft smile touching his features. I look to the floor, ashamed. I can't tell him what I've done – I've betrayed him. He'll hate me, and I can't bear that.

Kartik loses his easy posture, suddenly fierce and strong. He's knows something is not right. "What's happened?" he asks tensely. "What has Middleton done?"

I shake my head, biting my lip to keep back the sob that threatens to wrench my throat. "No… it's something I've done," I say hoarsely. "I can't believe I was so stupid!" I cry, losing my strict control and burying my face in my hands. Kartik rushes forward, taking me in his arms.

"Gemma, it's fine. You're still alive, so it can't be that bad. We can fix this – whatever it is." Kartik's warm, protective tone wrenches at my heart.

"It can't be fixed!" I cry, pulling away from him. I can't bear to let him be so kind to me when I've been such a shameless blackguard. "I was caught alone with Simon – now I've got to marry him!" I breathe heavily, tears gone, sorrow faded. Now I am filled with the bleakest fear – a glimpse into my future with Simon, without Kartik. And Kartik's reaction – his handsome, proud face darkening, closing off from me, his eyes like cold stones.

"What were you doing alone with him?" Kartik demands coldly.

"He told me he'd been visited by Pippa – I couldn't very well hold such a conversation with him in the middle of the ballroom," I answer defensively. Too defensively. Kartik's eyes narrow.

"Just talking is hardly grounds for a scandal. Methinks there was a little more to it." His tone is playful, but his eyes are cold, mirthless, and dark. I recoil a little as I try to redeem myself.

"He… he tried to kiss me." No need to say that I let him do it. "And he took off my glove. That's when we were caught."

Kartik scowls, and turns away from me. He storms to the back were he sleeps, kicking a stool out of the way, and breaking a leg off of it in his fury. I hurry after him, despite my fear of his black mood.

"Kartik! Please, wait!" I round the carriage after him, but he has disappeared. The shadows around me shift ominously from the weak light of a distant candle. "Kartik?" I call fearfully, glancing up into the dark rafters.

His voice echoes through the stable, a low hiss. I cannot place him. "You went off alone with him, then you were found in a compromising situation with him. Now you're marrying him!"

"I don't want to!" I cry. "I didn't want any of this to happen!"

Kartik's sigh is weary, heavy with a long-carried burden. His voice has lost its venom. "I knew this would happen, Gemma. I don't blame you. I blame this Godforsaken mess that we've all been tangled in. Just go." His words are filled with such bleak disappointment, that I feel myself being hollowed out by his emptiness. He… he doesn't care. He expected me to ruin what we had.

And so it seems my insecurities and fears were right all along. Kartik never wanted marriage, or love, or really even me in particular. I was a temporary diversion – a fling with an upper-class British girl, something he could brag about at the pub. "Fine then," I snap, trying to cover the overwhelming hurt with malice. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Kartik." I turn and march for the door, holding my breath so that I don't sob and break the illusion of cold uncaring.

As I round the carriage, I pause. "And don't worry about the Order," I say bitterly. "I wouldn't expect you to help someone so abhorrent as I."

There is no answer. I bite my lip again, and continue back into the house.

- - - - -

I spend the next day moping about the house. After breakfast, Tom excuses himself to the study, claiming he needs to look over documents for his patients. I follow him suspiciously. Why is he in such a hurry to get away? Surely the documents can't be that pressing.

When I reach the study door, it is locked. I press my ear to the door, but I can hear nothing. I can't imagine what Tom is up to. He has been distant and rather quiet for days now. Ever since I caught him asleep in the study several nights ago, he has been acting most peculiar. I wonder if he might be involved with the Rakshana, then banish the thought immediately. It is not possible. Tom and I may not get along as well as we should, but he would never want to hurt me.

Bracing myself, I knock softly on the door.

After a pause, Tom calls, "Who is it?"

"Gemma," I answer. "Let me in."

"What do you want?"

"I need my gloves," I lie. "I think I left them in there."

"They're not in here."

"Yes they are! Just let me look."

"Gemma, you don't need your gloves; you've got several other pairs that will do just fine. Now leave, I have important matters to see to." Tom's arrogance comes off false, and I detect a note of panic in his tone. What in God's name is he doing?

"Tom, what are you up to?" I demand.

"Hospital business," Tom snaps. "Now leave me be!" His voice burns with anger. He's never spoken so roughly to me. Offended and surprised, I leave.

- - - - -

Emily appears in the parlor, where I sit, flipping despondently through one of Grandmama's magazines. I am half-way through an article about taking care of one's complexion when she clears her throat, startling me.

"A caller for you, Miss Doyle."

I narrow my eyes, suspecting the worst. "Who is it?"

"Miss Worthington, Miss."

I relax and sit up properly. "Send her into the parlor. We'll take tea please." I don't particularly want tea, but having it made will keep Emily in the kitchen, where she can't eavesdrop on our conversation. Ever since the Pippa incident, she's been showing up in places where I least expect her, and gives me looks like I might lunge at her and devour her face. The last thing I need is for her to overhear Fee begging me to take her to the realms.

Emily shows Felicity in, and I smile politely for show, inviting Felicity to sit beside me on the davenport. "Thank you, Emily," I say. "The tea, if you please?"

Emily bows and leaves the room.

Felicity turns to me immediately. "You're engaged to Simon Middleton!" she hisses, shell-shocked.

I don't even bother asking how she found out. No doubt half of polite society is well aware of my engagement. "Yes," I sigh, "And that's not the worst of it. Simon's in the Rakshana."

Felicity raises a delicate eyebrow. "Another one?" she asks dryly. "Where do they keep coming from?"

I sigh, rolling my eyes. How can Fee make something so dangerous and crucial seem like a joke? I remind myself that it's very serious, and I try to make her take it seriously as well. "I suspect he wants to marry me so that he can kill me. Or possibly, he thinks that I'll submit to his orders when I am his wife and do the Rakshana's bidding in the Realms."

The mention of murder has caught her attention. "That _is_ a problem. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I can't think of a thing. There's no way I can escape this engagement – I'll be ruined. I'm sure everybody knows we were caught alone, and that's how this whole mess was started." I press my fingers to my temple to ward off an impending migraine.

Felicity smiles.

"This isn't funny!" I snap. "I'm engaged to a –"

Felicity cuts me off with a look as Emily reenters the room.

"Very wealthy man," I finish stupidly. "He's very powerful you know," I add, as if Fee has insulted my fiancé in some way.

She knows well enough to play along. "Forgive me, all I meant was… I hope you thought this through."

"Miss Doyle?"

"Yes, Emily?"

"A letter's just come for you."

She hands me a thick envelope, then leaves quickly. I glance curiously at it. There is no mark on it to indicate the sender. I glance at Felicity. "Could this be dangerous?" I ask nervously.

"Not unless a Rakshana assassin has managed to tuck himself into an envelope," she replies, rolling her eyes. She's right. I'm being paranoid. It's just that, with my engagement to Simon and Kartik's subsequent rage, I'm a little raw just now. I purposely neglected to bring up Kartik with Felicity. She sees him as just a toy, like her dalliance with Ithal. I don't know that she'd be able to comprehend the idea of forming such a bond with a man.

I open the envelope and pull out a thick, folded sheet of parchment. I recognize Kartik's handwriting immediately.

_Forgive me for intruding upon your life. I see  
__that you can have no further need of my  
__presence here. Please keep safe.  
__Goodbye._

Something had been scratched out before "good bye" but it had been inked over so thoroughly that I could make neither heads nor tails of it.

"Who is it from?" Felicity asks, craning her neck to read. I fold it quickly and tuck it into my bodice.

"Tom," I lie, my voice thick as I speak. "He wants me to tell Grandmama that he won't be at dinner tonight."

Fee pulls away, her interest lost. I'm surprised by how easily I fooled her – usually she sees right through my lies. "He should have just sent the letter to your Grandmother." She rolls her eyes. Suddenly, a wicked smile spreads her mouth. "So, tell me, darling, what shall I get you for a wedding gift?" She bats her eyelashes precociously.

"Nothing," I snap. "If this _does _go through, I won't be celebrating."

"Oh, come now, Simon's fabulously wealthy. Or, he will be when his father's out of the picture." Fee waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"Money makes no matter to me," I answer, saintly.

"Yes, it makes no matter when the man is handsome beyond dreams."

Come to think of it, I hardly noticed how handsome Simon had grown since last Christmas. I was so embarrassed at our first meeting, and since then I've been so terrified, that I couldn't think of anything else. But he really was quite good-looking. "So then as long as a man is wealthy and handsome, it doesn't matter that he wants to kill you?"

"At least you'd die happy," Fee purrs.

I shriek indignantly, letting myself be ridiculous and foolish with her, so that I don't think of _him_… so that I don't feel the painful tightness in my chest… so that I don't break down and cry.

_Awww… very sad. Yeah, this one's a little angsty. Stay tuned though, because the next chapter will explain all about Tom's strange sneakiness and you'll find out about Pippa's weird bi-polarness. Also – coming soon: a run-in with none other than (cue death music) CIRCE! _


	11. Unfinished Business

_I have to be honest. I don't plan my fics in the least. I just start out writing and a bunch of ideas pop into my head, and I just connect the dots as I go. So, this chapter was extremely difficult because, while I knew what was going on with Tom and Pippa, I wasn't sure how to explain it or how to make Gemma discover the truth about the situation. Especially to explain both Tom and Pippa in one chapter? A bit difficult, considering Tom's revelation introduces a fairly major plot point, and it has absolutely nothing to do with Pippa. So… difficult much? I ended up dividing the chapter into two separate scenes, which I've done before, so no biggie… but I kind of think I should have split this into two chapters. Oh well, I did my best, and hopefully you guys love it. I haven't mis-stepped so far, hopefully I can continue that way._

_Oh, and since I'm so sneaky and a total review-whore, I'm going to play my old games. When I get fifteen reviews – next chapter goes up. This one is pretty long, too, so I think I deserve fifteen for it. Cry all you want, I will not be swayed. I know you guys can do it – I get WAYYYY more than fifteen hits, so I don't think I'm asking too much. And, for those lazy minxes who are reaping the benefits of others' reviews without leaving any of their own: I hope you realize you will have a little black check next to your heart for the rest of your life. No amount of reading to the blind and feeding the lepers will save you from it. Consider yourselves warned. _:-)

I take Felicity out to the back garden under the guise of showing her Grandmama's prized rosebushes. There are no servants back at the little portico, and a small stone gazebo shields us from prying eyes. Felicity, though, is not as keen to visit the Realms as I thought she would be.

"Alright, let's go," I sigh, holding out my hand to her.

"Go where?" Felicity quirks a brow, not understanding.

"To the Realms," I explain impatiently. "We've got to be quick, and I have a feeling it won't be a pleasant visit, but I know you'll never let me –"

"We don't have to go," Felicity says quickly, trying to look unconcerned as she smoothes her skirts. Since I've known her, I've never seen Felicity look so cowed. There's no mistaking the flicker of fear in her eyes as she meets mine defiantly, daring me to call her out for it.

"But, Fee –"

"I mean, what's the use, Gemma? The Garden is completely ruined, and the whole place has been overrun with… with _monsters_."

She looks away as she says this, and the fear in her eyes is replaced by something that I am even more helpless to combat – sorrow. She grieves the loss of Pippa, but she cannot move on until Pippa has well and truly been put to rest. But _this _Pippa? She is likely too far gone for any sort of redemption, and Felicity knows it. As long as Felicity does not have to face her, she can ignore the terrible truth: Pippa is a lost cause.

"Fee… I think that's why we _must _go." I regard her cautiously, watching the play of emotions behind her gray eyes. After a moment's hesitation, she looks up, resolute.

"Very well then." She sighs, and I am relieved to see that playful, fearless Felicity is back. "But only because you're so darling," she coos, pinching my cheek. I swat her hand away and rub irritably where there is, no doubt, a red mark.

"Alright. Give me your hand."

I take a breath, and the door of light appears before us.

I'm not quite ready to go in, though. I wouldn't admit it to Felicity, but I am afraid of what I will find on the other side. What if the Garden has been scorched to the ground the creatures of the Winterlands run rampant? What if the Poppy Warriors have escaped their temple of bones and set up camp in the only place I truly know. What if all that is good and pure about the Realms has been poisoned by Circe and her followers? And the worst scenario imaginable: what if Circe waits for my return so that she may bind _me _into a watery grave?

Felicity is at my shoulder, breathing on my neck. "What are we waiting for?"

"Nothing," I answer quickly, startling into motion. I reach out, and open the door.

-

All of my worries melt away as we step into the Garden again. I forget my engagement, Kartik's abandonment, Tom's oddness, even Pippa. Nothing can be wrong in such a beautiful place.

The Garden is as I remember it at its best. The tall, soft grass sways sweetly in a gentle breeze. Fuzzy seed heads, bright wildflowers, and blossoming fruit trees dot the landscape with color and texture. The same old stream – once rancid and weak – now flows strong and clear again, its burbling rush like the sweetest of songs. Tiny, jewel-colored birds flutter about, mingling with the most beautiful of butterflies whilst white blossoms rain from the trees, drifting to the ground in lazy spirals. The sky is a rich azure, dotted with huge, lazy clouds. I touch a rose blossom in wonder, and gasp in delight as it melts from its stem and reforms into a perfectly cut, egg-sized ruby. Curiously, I touch it to my tongue; it melts like spun sugar and tastes of strawberries.

"It's back!" I declare, awe-struck. "Something is finally right about this whole mess," I sigh, turning to Felicity with a satisfied smile. But Felicity's eyes are hard as she surveys the landscape, skeptical.

"Gemma… don't forget what your mother told us – looks can be deceiving." It's so strange for Felicity to be the careful, guarded one, and for me to be so careless that I can't focus on what she said. After a stunned second, I collect myself, straightening my spine, and dropping the ruby. My reaction has Felicity somewhat irritated. "It can't have all just gone back to normal without any work," she snaps waspishly. "You haven't done anything – as far as you know, Circe's still running around and this is just a little trick of hers to lull you into a false sense of security! Do you honestly think you could just look away for a bit and things would just sort themselves out?"

Felicity's chastisement has me thinking logically again. It seems her last visit to the Realms affected her more than I thought possible. I know that, deep in her heart, she still believes me at fault for Pippa's death. Perhaps she fears the same will happen to her if I'm not careful. I silently vow to keep Felicity safe, no matter what the cost. We've lost Pippa, then Ann, and I couldn't bear to lose the last of my only true friends… though Ann's loss was nothing we could help.

As if reading my mind, Felicity says softly, "Even after a year, it still seems strange – just the two of us. I wonder what's become of Ann."

I sigh, sadness permeating the bubble of lightness around my heart. Perhaps the Garden was a deception – else why would I have such difficultly feeling anything but peaceful happiness within it? "She's likely become governess to those horrible cousins of hers."

We are silent a moment, reflecting, when a sheepish voice interrupts our thoughts. "Hello, Gemma, Fee. I haven't seen you for quite a time."

We whirl around in tandem, startled, to face Pippa. She is beautiful again, just as the Garden's been restored to its former glory. I'd almost forgotten how lovely Pippa was, and the sudden sight of her original beauty is more startling than her sudden appearance.

"Pippa," Felicity croaks. Any reservations towards the deceptive nature of the Realms are long forgotten as she launches herself on Pippa, nearly knocking her over as she embraces her. I am less inclined to be so frivolous – my latest run-ins with Pippa have been confusing, nearly fatal, and altogether unpleasant.

"You're back!" Felicity cries. "I've missed you so!" Pippa smiles softly, almost sadly, as she strokes Felicity's back soothingly.

"Yes, but not for long, I'm afraid," she says softly, eyes downcast.

Felicity draws back, wiping a stream of tears away with the back of her hand. "What do you mean?"

I cut in, before Pippa can answer, "How do we know we can trust you?"

Pippa winces at the cold, impassiveness of my tone. Her violet eyes meet mine hesitantly. "I have you to thank for my return, Gemma."

"Me? What have I done?"

"Remember when I touched you and… well, you didn't take too well to it?"

I nod, rubbing my hands together at the memory of the bone-biting cold.

"I really don't know what it was, but I have a theory. I think I… _stole _some of your essence – your humanity. Only you could save me, because of who you are. The power of your vitality defeated the creature that I had been bound to – a lowly dark spirit was no match for the High Priestess. You returned me to how I was before things went all wrong."

"You could be lying," I force myself to say. I want so badly to believe that Pippa is our dear, old Pippa again, but to assume such a thing could be my undoing. "Can you prove it?"

Pippa hesitates, thinking. Her eyes light as she thinks of an answer. "Touch me. If I am still bound to the dark, I will take your light… you'll be cold again."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Felicity interjects fearfully, glancing between us. If Pippa completely drains me, there will be no way for Felicity to return. But I don't think there is any other way to prove Pippa right. I convince myself that I will be able to fight her off if she is lying.

After a moment's hesitation, I extend my hand.

"Gemma!" Felicity cries.

Pippa reaches out and takes my hand in hers. I meet her eyes, stunned.

Nothing happens. I feel only her skin on mine, her hand warm and soft – human flesh.

I drop my show of stoicism as tears well up in my eyes, and run down my cheeks. "Oh, Pippa!" I cry, throwing my arms around her. She laughs giddily, embracing me back. Felicity, overcome, throws herself on us as well, kissing us both.

When we finally calm down, we lay in the tall grass, our heads touching, and watch the clouds float by, saying nothing. Pippa grows serious, breaking our comfortable silence. "I shan't overstay my welcome this time," she says softly, her violet eyes sad as she gauges my reaction.

"No?" I ask softly. It is a double-edged sword, this confession. The thought of Pippa's being gone forever is a sword through my heart, a reminder of my mother's death, and subsequent passing. But the knowledge that she will not allow herself to become a corrupted spirit of the Winterlands again is a relief beyond words. I don't know whether to smile or cry again. "When will you go?" I ask, instead.

"When my business here is finished," she answers calmly.

"What business?" Felicity demands. "Why must you leave? Gemma can come by whenever you need restoring."

Pippa shakes her head slowly, picking her words. Death has made her calmer, more perceptive than she was in life. She has been given a perspective on life that the living can never know. "It would kill her. No need for two deaths among us."

"What is keeping you here?" I ask. I don't want Felicity to turn against me again – as she did when Pippa was first lost to us. I can't do this alone, and knowing that Pippa has been returned to us, only to leave forever, has only made this ten times more difficult.

"You are. I want to help you defeat Circe. She does not know that I've been unbound – she thinks my looks to be the effects of her glamour. I want to be your spy."

"Pippa!" Felicity gasps. "What if she finds out?"

Pippa shrugs. "What can she do to me? I'm already dead – the worst she can do is force me to pass before I've seen you defeat her. And I know you will, Gemma."

I sigh, my heart swelling with hope. The struggles of the future have suddenly become less bleak. I've gained more than I thought I would – where previously I thought I would be forced to destroy Pippa in order to save the Realms, now I've been given an unexpected ally. My good fortune puts me in a loving mood, and I feel closer to them than I did before. Pippa's turn of luck seems to have restored Felicity's good opinion of me.

I draw the folded parchment from my bodice and hand it to Felicity. "The note wasn't from Tom. It was from Kartik," I say. "He left."

Fee snatches the note. "The Indian boy – the one who left the Rakshana?"

"Yes." I sigh.

"The one who saw me in my chemise?" Pippa asks, giggling at the distant memory. Apparently her newfound sagacity does not extend to men. I laugh with her, delighted that some of her girlish liveliness still remains. At the same time, the memory is a painful twinge in my chest. I have never been the one Kartik wanted, the one he would chase after, the one he longed for. I was just convenient, close, accessible. I was settled for.

Fee hands the letter back to me. "What a cad. Whatever did he leave for?"

"Because of Simon," I sigh. "When I told him we were engaged, he just left."

Pippa sits bolt upright, eyes wide. "You're engaged to Simon Middleton!"

"Oh, yes," I say, stifling a giggle. "About that. You didn't happen to pay a heavily armed visit to Simon, did you?"

Fee sits up as well, her attention caught. The two of them gaze down at me, awestruck. I smile benevolently, enjoying the attention for a moment. "That's what Simon says," I tell Fee, looking pointedly at Pippa.

Pippa sighs. "Yes, I did – but it amounted to nothing. I can only cross between realms with the aid of spirit – and I knew that, thanks to you, the spirit was fading fast – so I tried to make one last crossover while I could. Circe told me that Simon had become a member of the Rakshana and was threatening you – so I decided to take matters into my own hands."

"What did you do?" I gasped, torn between amusement and disbelief.

"The dark spirit was incredibly weak by then – he was almost back to his original form. I was only strong enough to take the maid's body, grab a few knives, and tell Simon who I was before I lost control. It was only two minutes – and then I was back here."

"What do you mean 'his original form?'" I asked, intrigued. Was it possible that all the lost souls of the Winterlands could be restored as Pippa had been?

"Why – my Prince. He was a creature of the Realms – of my creation. When I turned, so did he. Circe saw it as oddly fitting that I should be bound to him."

"Is he still around?" Fee asks, looking across the gardens.

"Yes – but he's hiding. If Circe finds him, she'll know we've been unbound."

I sat up with them and shook my head fiercely, trying to file the confused mess of new information into some semblance of order. "I can't believe this. I can't believe we've got you back."

Pippa smiled softly and planted a small kiss on my cheek. "This time I won't fail you, Gemma."

- - - - -

Felicity leaves just as Tom returns home. He goes straight to the study, as per usual, locking the door behind him. I pace past the door several times, listening at the keyhole and peering through the space under the door. At one point, Emily walks by, a stack of linens in her arms, glancing at me curiously.

"There it is!" I declare triumphantly, pretending to pick up a lost earbob. I hear a sudden shuffling of papers from inside the study after my loud declaration. Then, the unmistakable sound of a drawer being opened, shut, and locked securely. Within seconds, Tom is at the door, staring haughtily down at my crouched figure.

"Um… lost my earbob," I stammer, surprised by the fury in Simon's eyes.

"Mayhap, if you weren't crouching at doors, you'd keep better track of your things!" He brushes past me angrily, and marches for the parlor.

-

Dinner is uncomfortable. Tom refuses to speak, fuming silently as he mashes his food beneath his fork. Grandmama has finally found a bright outlook on my engagement – choosing to ignore the circumstances of the proposal, and instead focus on wedding plans. Father is happy enough to humor Grandmama, since he is already quite pleased with Simon's affection for me. It doesn't hurt that he gets on rather well with Lord and Lady Denby.

"To think – she'll be a viscountess! Lady Denby… Mrs. Gemma Middleton… wonderful!"

I can barely hide my relief when dinner ends. Tom and Father remain in the dining room, using the table to play cards. I excuse myself quickly. It is the first night in a week that Tom hasn't gone immediately to the study and locked himself in there for the remainder of the night. I am bound and determined to figure out what exactly he is doing in there.

As soon as I reach the study, I shut myself in and lock the door securely. I won't have Tom bustling in and forcing me out before I've discovered the method behind his madness. I go immediately to Tom's desk – he is always working with papers, I know that much. I hope that he isn't involved with anything illegal, or worse yet, the Rakshana. All the desk drawers open easily, save for one. The bottom drawer is locked, and I don't know where the key is. Fortunately, Kartik – his name makes my chest twinge painfully, but I ignore it – taught me to pick a lock.

I remove a pin from my hair and wiggle it experimentally in the lock. Nothing happens. The desk is fine quality, but being only a desk – the lock can't be too troublesome. Anything of real value would be kept in a safe – not a desk. I jam the hairpin in as far as it will go, tilt it up, and give a sharp wrench. Like magic, the lock springs free.

The drawer is filled with opened envelopes. The top envelope came from and address in Surrey. The address seems vaguely familiar, though I'm not sure why. Without any hesitation, I take the envelope and pull out the letter.

_Dear Mr. Doyle,_

_I cannot express enough thanks for your careful care of my dear cousin. His wife is particularly pained by his affliction, but she is very grateful for all the help you've given. I will be in London this next week to help my mistress with her shopping and to pay a visit to her dear husband. Please enclose instructions with any preparations that might need to be made for such a visit._

I raise an eyebrow as I stifle a yawn. This is all? Letters of thanks from his patients' families? What is so terribly secretive about that? This can't be all that Tom has been hiding. I stuff the letter back into the envelope and look to the next one on the pile. It is from the same address. And the one beneath that. And the next one, and the next, and the next… They're all from the same address. I snatch the first letter again and continue reading. The rest of the letter continues in much the same vein as the first paragraph, until the very last paragraph.

_When I am in London, I will be free on Wednesday, as my mistress will be calling on friends. I trust you will make arrangements for the day. I miss you terribly and when I have repaid my debt to my cousins, I hope that I might move to London and we will see more of each other. I wish we did not have to correspond in secret. I loathe this sneaking around, though it does rather remind me of my school days. Which also reminds me, do be kind to your sister. She is only concerned for your welfare, despite whatever annoyances you may perceive. Until next week,  
__Yours truly,  
__Nan Washbrad_

Eyes wide, I reread the last paragraph over and over again. It couldn't be possible. But truly, there was only one explanation. I looked to the top of the letter and read the date. Quickly doing the math in my head, I calculated Ann's visit for tomorrow. A determined smile curled my lips as I replaced the letter and tried the jimmy the lock back. I was not going to let Tom out of my sight tomorrow, come hell or high water.

_Oh my God, you guys have no idea how hard it was for me not to crack a "Simon Says" joke when Gemma was asking Pippa about her visit to Simon. But I restrained myself. Feel free to make your own jokes – I enjoy witty reviews._

_And, yes, Ann is using the name she made up for the Order to sign her letters. Don't worry, Tom knows who she really is – she's just protecting herself in case her letters get read by somebody else._

_Okey dokey, fifteen reviews and you've got the next chapter! Ready, set go!_


	12. Sorry

I don't know what to say.

I've been trying and trying to rewrite the next chapter... but it's not working for me. I can't get it to work the way I want it to, and to be honest, I've lost a lot of love for this story. It's not really what anybody said - it's just something I worried about for a while, and it's now been confirmed in writing by someone who has no need to flatter me. I know LunaEquus had a hard time with this particular reviewer. I totally understand where she's coming from - people who write fics already worry that they're not interesting or funny or whatever. We already know that there are problems with the story. And it's nice when people comment with suggestions for improvement. But to just say it was not that great, and then not tell you what could be done about that? It's a cop-out.

Don't get me wrong - it's not because of that reviewer. I'm not really that easily put-off from something I enjoy. It's just a lot of stuff. My flashdrive is dead. My insecurities about this fic have been proven right after all. Not to mention, I've basically written myself into a corner. I _do_ have somewhere to go with the story, but everyone knows exactly where I'm going. That's not fun for me. You guys know I'm a big fan of cliff-hangers and whatnot. I guess I'm just really irritated. I need to leave this story for a while.

I'm really sorry to those of you who enjoyed it. I will definitely come back and finish it, but I'm going to leave it alone for atleast a week. Probably two or three weeks. I'm also probably going to delete the Perils of Ann. I might focus on one-shots from now on, since people seemed to like my last one a lot. I don't know.

Thank you all very much for the lovely reviews and the support. It makes me feel really good, which is really sappy and everything, but I mean it. I promise I'll update this in a little while.


	13. Lies

_Sorry I've been away for so long. My life has been messy lately, but things are pretty much sorted out now, I guess. Anyways, thank you to all of you who have reviewed for me on anything I've put up here._

Felicity and I stroll the cool, white corridors of Bethlem Royal Hospital, following the directions given by a smiling nurse to Tom's office.

"Are you certain it was Ann?" Felicity asks, for what seems the hundredth time.

"Yes, I'm absolutely positive," I answer waspishly. Felicity ignores my tone and presses forward at a faster pace.

"Don't catch attention," I chide, grabbing her by the arm. "We can't have Tom knowing we're here."

"Well, if we don't walk any faster, we shall miss Ann entirely," she counters.

Her concern is the same one that has been nagging at me all morning. I say nothing, but pick up speed.

- - -

Tom's office is in a narrow, poorly lit corridor. His door hangs slightly ajar, so we steal up silently. Felicity grips my arm excitedly, her fingers digging into in my flesh. Her breath comes shallow in my ear, making my heart beat faster. In a moment, we could be reunited with Ann – the prodigal member of the Order, one who hasn't been seen in over a year.

But when we reach his office door, there is no sound. We glance at each other, and Felicity moves forward to peer in. I hold my breath as she cranes her neck, trying to peer through the narrow opening without disturbing the door. When she looks back at me, she shakes her head. I let out a sigh of disappointment as she leads me down the corridor.

"I only saw your brother," she whispers, disappointment evident in her face. "He was at a desk, writing. No visitors."

My shoulders sag wearily, but I am unwilling to admit defeat. "Perhaps he will meet her elsewhere? A restaurant, maybe?"

"And then what, Gemma?" Felicity demands impatiently. The disappointment has soured her mood. "Shall we hail a cab and order the driver to follow your brother's carriage? Surely he won't find it odd that he's being followed." Sarcasm lends a hard edge to her words.

"I don't know!" I hiss. "I just want to find Ann!"

"Do you think I don't? At least I don't fabricate illicit romances in order to –"

A door swings open at the other end of the hall, and we both stop, staring breathlessly. Steady, even footsteps of a woman's gait echo lightly through the hall. With wide-eyed astonishment, we stagger into motion, disappearing around the nearest corner. We listen as the footsteps continue, stopping in the middle of the hall. There is a tap at a door.

Then nothing.

I peer cautiously around the corner, and see no one. But Tom's door is now closed. Felicity is already marching back to Tom's office, her stride determined. I rush to catch her before she does something foolish, like bursting into the office.

"Wait!" I hiss, catching her around the waist. "We can't just fling the door open. If it's not Ann…"

"Which it's likely not," Felicity snipes. I ignore her comment.

"We'll wait at the other end of the hall – she has to leave that way. If it's Ann, we'll catch her on the way out. And it saves both Ann and Tom embarrassment."

"I don't particularly care about their embarrassment."

"I do," I answer firmly, walking towards the end of the hall. It's a bluff I don't think I will win. Felicity is stubborn and proud. Likely, I will turn around and beg her to comply.

But she surprises me by appearing at my side. Thankful for such a small fortune, I don't dare say anything to make her change her mind. When we reach the end of the hall, we settle in the niche by the doors.

- - -

After what seems like hours, the sound of a door opening startles us both into consciousness. A murmur of voices floats softly down the hall, and I feel myself reddening at the possibilities of what they could be saying. Finally, the door closes again, and the same steady footsteps make their way towards us. We leap to our feet, sorting our skirts, and preparing ourselves for whoever might come round the bend.

Felicity cannot wait. She leaps from our niche like a tiger from a cage. What she sees drains her color. I follow her heedlessly, prepared to face Circe or worse… but what I see, is Ann.

"Ann Bradshaw!" Felicity declares, sounding as if she's spotted a ghost. Her supreme shock assures me that she never believed a word I told her. She'd only come along for a lark. Torn between irritation with Fee and the shock of seeing Ann again, I can only stare wordlessly.

Ann has done well since leaving Spence. Her ruddy complexion has evened, and her once plump waist has noticeably narrowed. Though her features will never be that of a china doll, her eyes have gained a charming sparkle, her cheeks a charming flush, and her hair has been styled attractively. Her perpetual cold has faded as well, judging by the lack of handkerchief in hand, and the fact that her nose is not sporting that raw, shiny look.

"Gemma? Felicity?" Ann is even more staggered than Fee. After a pause, she croaks, "What are you doing here?"

Felicity regains her voice, demanding waspishly, "I rather think the question is, what are _you _doing here, Ann, dear?"

"I-I-I'm v-vis-visiting family." It seems the time away from Spence has not managed to cure her stammer, though. Regardless of that, her lie is as transparent as glass.

"You have no family," Felicity snaps coldly. Her bluntness has Ann flinching. I jump in, if only to keep Felicity from attacking her.

"Where have you been?" I ask, trying to keep the wounded tone from my voice. "Why have you not written us? Why… why have you abandoned us?"

"No," Ann says softly, "I… I was saving you."

"How is that?" I ask over Felicity's snort of derision.

"I have been given many gifts," Ann says cryptically.

"You think we would begrudge you good fortune?" I ask incredulously.

"No." Ann sighs. "But these gifts have come at a cost."

A sliver of fear begins to prickle at my spine.

"Oh come off it," Felicity sneers. "You ran away because you're a little coward!"

"In order to receive, you must sacrifice," Ann says placidly, as if she has not even heard Felicity.

I feel a shiver run down my spine, and I have the nagging suspicion that these are not Ann's words coming out of her mouth. Unaware, I take a step back, watching Ann fearfully.

"Just because last Christmas was a complete disaster –" Felicity continues, sounding vaguely guilty beneath her irritation.

"So I have had to make sacrifices, in order to earn these gifts." Ann smiles softly, looking like an angel in the dim light of the hall.

"I'm sorry I ruined it for you!" Felicity says quickly, not meeting Ann's eyes. "I'm sorry I made you lie and ruined your Christmas and damaged your reputation!"

Ann waves a hand at Felicity, as if wiping away her sins. "Your little games have not ruined me," she says darkly. "_I _have ruined myself with lies and secrets."

Felicity looks up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "What?"

"Look at me!" she snarls, her chocolate eyes feverishly bright. "I've sold my soul for a tiny waist and a man who cannot love me without lies!"

"Tom," I whisper fearfully. A cold shiver runs through my body, and I realize why Ann makes me nervous. The magic of the realms clings to her, drips from her, saturates her. "Ann!" I gasp. "What have you done?"

_Hope my comeback was worth it. Please review._


	14. Not Your Fault

**Sorry for the long absence. I was at the Renaissance Faire this weekend. If you want to see pictures, I put a few up on my DA page. (Link's in my profile.) **

"Ann!" I cry again, when she doesn't respond. "What have you done?"

She shakes her head sadly. Her desolation makes me wish I could comfort her, but her betrayal has me cold. Felicity is frozen beside me, eyes narrow as she regards Ann.

"You betrayed us," Felicity hisses, loathing consuming her voice.

"No," Ann begs. "I was trying to –"

"Do you think I care?" Felicity spits angrily. She takes my arm and leads me away, yanking roughly on my wrist. As we disappear around the corner, I dare one last glance at Ann.

She's gone.

-- -- --

In the carriage, Felicity and I debate furiously.

"She betrayed us Gemma! She's dangerous!"

"I _know_, Felicity," I say through gritted teeth. "But now we don't know any more than we did before. We could have at least learned something from her about Circe!"

Felicity shakes her head, sighing in exasperation. "She wouldn't have told us anything. She's one of Circe's creatures now. If anything, she would have fed us lies to throw us off course."

"She's not one of her _creatures_. She's still Ann," I insist.

Felicity's gray eyes are stormy as she regards me darkly. "No. She's not."

I sit back with an angry sigh. Nothing I say will persuade her, and she will not sway my opinion. Felicity looks out the carriage window, eyeing the gray sky dismally.

-- -- --

Once I arrive home, I go straight to my bedroom.

"Did you make any purchases, Gemma?" Grandmama asks as I pass the sitting room.

"No."

I continue up the stairs, hoping that Grandmama does not insist on interrogating me about my day of "shopping." Fortunately she is absorbed in her needlepoint, and I am free to pass, unharrassed.

I fall onto my bed, ignoring the stays that jab my sides. To think that Ann has turned against us… it's almost inconceivable. I can't believe that she would join with Circe for the sake of vanity. And Tom… I'd known that Ann admired him, but I did not think she was so besotted that she would sell her soul for him. And even after all that, Tom won't acknowledge their relationship.

I sit bolt upright, nearly cracking my head on my bedside table in the process.

What about Tom? Is he in danger?

I leap to my feet and pace my bedroom nervously. I've half a mind to hail a cab and go straight back to Bethlem, just to be sure that nothing has happened to him. But it is impossible. Grandmama would never let me out without a chaperone, and I won't likely convince her to come with me to the asylum just to visit Tom.

As I turn back to my bed, ready to collapse in helpless defeat, I spy a folded parchment on my bedside table. With a cry of consternation, I snatch the thing up and rip it open. It would really just be a the perfect end to an unbelievable day if Circe had somehow managed to get into my house.

But the script is not in her hand. I sigh in relief and sink shakily onto my bed. It is Kartik's penmanship hastily scrawled over a bit of dirty parchment.

_Gemma,  
__I'm sorry about what happened. I can explain later. I have been following Mr. Middleton. Meet me as usual.  
__Kartik _

I reread the note several times before tucking away with the others. What did he mean, 'he can explain?' Was his abandonment a ruse? It doesn't seem likely, considering the fit he threw when I confessed to Simon's proposal.

I groan at the memory. I'd almost managed to forget that I was engaged to Simon. There was absolutely no way of wriggling out of it, without eternally sullying my reputation. Kartik had to understand that.

I shake my head harshly, trying to clear my thoughts. There is no use in worrying over it – I won't have any definite conclusions until I meet Kartik.

-- -- --

Midnight comes sooner than I expect. It helps that I fell asleep for three hours. Unfortunately, I fell asleep in my corset. My ribs cry out in agony when I sit up in the darkness, and realize that midnight is near. I gasp in pain, but I have no time to loosen the stays. Forcing myself to breathe quietly, I sneak into the hallway and back to the carriage house, as I did so often before.

Kartik is waiting right inside the door. He steps out of the darkness as I enter, frightening the life out of me. Before I can scream, he covers my mouth, pulling me against him. Instinctively, I bite his hand. He hisses in pain and releases me. I spin away quickly, turning to face him with a scowl.

"What was that for?" Kartik demands, rubbing his hand.

"There was no need to manhandle me," I say defensively.

Kartik smiles wolfishly. "You liked it before."

A hot blush suffuses my cheeks, and it's all I can do to hold his gaze. "Excuse me, sir," I snap primly. "What is it you wanted to see me for?"

Kartik's grin widens at my business-like tone. "A few things actually, but I suspect that one of them is rather unwelcome at the moment."

I know what he's insinuating, and it only makes my blush deepen. "Will you please just get to the point?" I sigh, trying to sound unflustered.

"The Order and the Rakshana used to be lovers," Kartik starts bluntly.

"Yes, well – er…" I trail off, embarrassed.

"Does 'the Caves of Sighs' mean anything to you?"

"Yes," I answer, poorly concealing my mortification.

"The Rakshana and the Order have an understanding – Rakshana guardians and Order Preistesses are naturally drawn to each other."

"Why?"

"Nobody is certain – though it's likely to do with the magic of the Realms."

I cock my head, embarrassment forgotten as I struggle to understand what he's getting at. "Why are you telling me this?"

"That is why you found yourself in such a compromising position with Mr. Middleton. He knew about the connection between Rakshana and the Order. He was exploiting it."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, it's not your fault, Gemma."

"So… you've forgiven me? Just like that?"

"I was never angry with you," he says sheepishly. "I assumed that Middleton had pushed himself on you. I pretended to be angry with you because I was afraid you would interfere if you knew I was going to go kill him," he informs me idly.

"Kill him! Kartik, no!"

"See. I knew you'd interfere."

"You're not a murderer," I say desperately. "Tell me you haven't done anything to him!"

Kartik sighs. "If I had, perhaps you would stop mooning over him."

"I'm not mooning over him!" I snap. "I'm worried about you – what if you were caught? What would I do? How would I…" I trail off, embarrassment rising again.

"Gemma," Kartik declares with a melodramatic hand to his heart, "I didn't know you cared!"

"Stop it," I swat at him, rolling my eyes. "You know I care. Right?"

Kartik grows serious. "Yes. I do." He paused, fidgeting with the knife at his waist. "And… you know that I care?"

For the first time, I think I see Kartik blush. I smile, and resist teasing him mercilessly. "Yes," I say softly.

Kartik is gentle as he reaches his hand behind my neck, and presses a soft kiss against my lips. "I'm glad you're safe," he murmurs as he pulls away.

"Me? I've only been swanning around the city with Felicity," I say off-handedly.

Kartik kisses me again. "I know what you've been doing."

"What?" I whisper.

"I've been following you."

"You – what? You've been spying on me!"

"Gemma."

"You always know what's happening, and you completely leave me in the dark! I'm the supposed High Priestess, yet I'm always the last to know something!"

Kartik shushes me, careful to keep his fingers away from my teeth. "Gemma – you'll wake your family."

I lower my voice, but not my temper. "You have to stop doing that. Stop being so secretive and mysterious – it doesn't help me any!"

Kartik smiles. "You think I'm mysterious?"

"Kartik!"

"Alright. No more secrets." He raises his left hand and lays his right over his heart.

"Good," I say, mollified.

"Shall I tell you a secret?" Kartik asks, looking mischievous.

"What?" I eye him apprehensively.

"I know how to unlace a corset."

"Kartik!" I cry, color flooding my face again.

He tries to look suitably chagrined, but he can't help the smile that stretches his mouth. "I'm sorry," he says insincerely. "It was terribly uncouth."

"Yes, it was." I nod primly. An unpleasant image occurs to me – Kartik unlacing another Emily's corset. "Where exactly did you learn this little trick?" I demand.

Kartik's grin widens. "Jealous, are we?"

"No. Perhaps I'm concerned about your soul. Promiscuity is a sin, sir."

Kartik bursts into laughter. I rush forward to shush him, pressing my finger against his lips. His laughter fades and his eyes grow serious as he catches my hand. He presses of soft, slow kiss against my knuckles.

"I don't need to unlace a corset to figure it out. It's not terribly difficult, Gemma."

"Yes, but…" I struggle to focus as Kartik turns my hand and presses a kiss against the pulse at my wrist. "When have you had occasion to even see a lady's corset?"

Kartik pulls me close, leaning his forehead against mine. His messy curls tickle my cheek. "Don't be angry, Gemma."

"Why would I be angry?" I ask blithely, trying to keep the anger from my tone.

"Because I've seen you undressing."

I jump away from him, crossing my arms protectively over my body. "Beg your pardon?!"

"I've always looked away before…" he trails off sheepishly.

I wonder at the small sense of flattery I feel, which is slowly overwhelming the outrage.

"You're very beautiful, Gemma."

Flattery wins. But I make a show of being affronted. "A gentleman would never spy on a lady while she's undressing!" I chide him.

Kartik looks up sharply. "Ah, but therein lies the problem. I'm _not _a gentleman, my dear. Far from it."

He closes the distance between us quickly, pulling me against him. A small gasp of delighted scandal escapes me. "Kartik?"

"A lady would never rendezvous with her Indian coachman in the middle of the night."

"True," I concede, slightly breathless by his proximity.

"Then we're agreed?" Kartik spins me away gracefully.

"Agreed on what?"

"You should return to bed before you do something you regret."

I am careful to hide my dismay behind a façade of apathy. "Fine," I say dully, brushing past him.

Kartik catches my arm and swings me back to him. In a breathless moment, his mouth is on mine and he's kissing me as he did before the Simon debacle. My hands rise over his chest, up the back of his neck and tangle in his hair.

"Okay." Kartik breaks away breathlessly, his eyes wild as he searches mine.

"Okay?"

"Goodnight, Miss Doyle."

"Goodnight."

-

Back in my room, I find another note. How did he manage to get one up here while… I shake my head. Why bother wondering? Kartik and all his mysterious ways. I smile bemusedly as I slide my finger under the seal and open the note.

My smile falls away as I read. This note is not from Kartik.

_Dear Miss Doyle,  
__There will be a cab waiting at the corner tomorrow morning just before sunrise. I will meet you there. If you do not come, and come alone, things will not end happily for darling Ann.  
__Yours truly,  
__Hester Asa Moore_

**Bwa hahaha! There're about 2-3 chapters left to Old Secrets. But don't cry for me, because I've already got a new fic planned. Please review.**


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